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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019595">Escape From Station 17</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepy_lil_hyena/pseuds/Sleepy_lil_hyena'>Sleepy_lil_hyena</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ahriman Martyr AU [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adora is a history teacher now, And oh boy do they embarrass the fuck out of their son, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Asexual Character, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Banter, Bathroom Sex, Bisexuality, Blossom is bi, Breakfast, Canon Non-Binary Character, Coffee Shops, Coming of Age, Condoms, Cunnilingus, Cute, Dorks in Love, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/F, F/M, Family Dinners, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Homophobic Language, Implied Relationships, Implied handjob, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Marijuana, Meeting the Parents, Mild Smut, Objectification, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pansexual Character, Parents Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Partner Betrayal, Partners in Crime, Partying, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pink Floyd References, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-War, Really I'm Serious, Road Trips, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Discovery, Semi-Public Sex, Skeletor is a pothead with a crush on Catra for some inconceivable reason please send help, Sleepy Cuddles, Teaching, Teasing, Trans Catra (She-Ra), Trans Perfuma (She-Ra), Vaginal Sex, Video &amp; Computer Games, well sort of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:02:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,091</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019595</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepy_lil_hyena/pseuds/Sleepy_lil_hyena</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the battle against the Second Legion on Ahriman, Catra and Adora gave birth to a son named Harper; now, twenty years later, that son is a bit of a misguided slacker with little direction in life beyond barista duty in his cat mom's cafe. The only thing he can be certain of right now is his feelings for his lifelong friend Blossom. When life suddenly takes a turn and Blossom is separated from him, however, Harper finds himself drawn into a journey beyond his Station 17 home. In doing so, he'll find himself questioning a lot of assumptions he had about himself, his relationships, and the world. Thankfully, his moms and his sibling, Finn, are also on this journey for reasons that are much less profound. Secrets, possibilities, and oddities all await on the escape from Station 17. It might just be enough to reunite Harper and Blossom.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Double Trouble/Wrong Hordak (She-Ra), Harper Meowmeow/Blossom Andromeda (Catradora fankid/Scorfuma fankid) (She-Ra), Perfuma/Scorpia (She-Ra)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ahriman Martyr AU [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870384</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Both Alike In Dignity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Back when he was still in high school, Harper found himself reconnecting with an old friend...and also with some folks who weren't so friendly.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you again to PwiPwiPoo for betaing. Content warning: contains some transmisogyny and transphobic slurs coming from a very bad person, as well as homophobia. Avoid if that's not your thing until the next installment.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“When you love someone, you love the whole person, just as he or she is, and not as you would like them to be.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-Leo Tolstoy (though I would add that the person you love can be a they too, or anything in between) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Prologue: Both Alike In Dignity </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geez, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harper thought to himself, finding it frankly quite hard to think about anything under the school’s hideous lights, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did they have to make us carry so many books? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the fifty-first century. Humans--and all the assorted offshoots therein that had evolved in the post-nuclear diaspora of the First Ones--had the technology to put all the knowledge you could possibly want on a tiny, pocket-sized computer or even directly in someone’s brain. People still loved books, though, or at least high school teachers did. Sure, they smelled really nice, but they were a pain in the ass to schlep around; Harper guessed that was probably why he was moving to put the damn things in his locker, instantly recognizable as number 451 (and also because of the huge Pink Floyd prism sticker on it). Cat mom probably would’ve given him some stupid lecture about how she used to ruck several hundred-pound belts of ammo with her everywhere during the war, and he would’ve rolled his eyes and shrugged. Those wars might’ve been awful, sure, but this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>awful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After fumbling his keyring for a bit--didn’t help that a bit of his fur got caught in the damn thing, that hurt like a motherfucker--he slid his key into the storage unit’s padlock. Figuring it’d be a monumental task to fumble each of the books out of his bag and into the locker one at a time, he took a knee on the floor and undid the bag’s biggest compartment. From here, stacking the books together and sliding them into the locker would be a cinch; he could just gather them up and put them away all at once. Or it would’ve been, anyway, if his books didn’t get trampled just as he was setting them up. The person he tripped damn near toppled over, only to regain his composure with a bit of difficulty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit! I’m sorry, dude! You okay?” Harper asked, getting up and running over to make sure the other boy was alright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch it, queer…” the boy, probably quite well-off judging from the well-ironed collared shirt, grumbled, staring daggers at Harper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?” Harper’s politeness went away. Just hearing that word being used like...</span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>was enough to make his tail crook and his fur rustle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> Harper Meowmeow, right? The kid who sits in front of me in biology and always smells like weed?” the rich guy pressed, flipping some loose strands of his slicked-back black-and-purple hair out of his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I guess…” Harper trailed off. He’d never seen this guy before in his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sounds about right. Well, your whole family’s full of queers. Figured you were one, too. I mean, I’m gonna guess you’ve never fucked a girl. Probably never even kissed one, really. So, I mean, jury’s out. Just sayin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, that’s really none of your business, pal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With a family like yours? It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>business, buddy. On one hand, the ten-foot-tall brick of chrome and ‘roids whose stupid face I have to see on every single history textbook, every </span>
  <em>
    <span>stinking </span>
  </em>
  <span>PSA, and on the other, the mutant freak General with her perfect little service record. Except for the small stain that she was a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>fascist war criminal</span>
  </em>
  <span> of course. Not to mention she’s a goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>tranny</span>
  </em>
  <span>…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you talk about my moms like that!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or you’ll what, kid? You gonna blow some of your nasty skunk pot in my face?” the rich guy laughed, “Don’t even deny it. I bet you’ve seen the pics too, right? I mean, I’ve heard some of my weirder friends even </span>
  <em>
    <span>jacked off</span>
  </em>
  <span> to them, but that’s just too fucked up, know what I’m saying? Like, I’m not gonna lie, the blonde one’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but spanking it to some shemale cat mutie...I dunno, bro, seems kinda gay to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper wanted to scream every existent expletive in the Etherian Basic tongue at this kid. The name calling was probably enough on its own, but to bring up the pictures? Oh, this guy was a real shitgibbon. Luckily for Harper--noodly armed stoner that he was, not much good in a fight--he heard a sound that he recognized anywhere, one that typically heralded backup in moments like this. Old Royal Army combat boots clacking across the ground. The cavalry had arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, what did you just call his cat mom?” a third voice, full of some kind of authority, demanded to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rich guy spun around to see the source of this interrogatory inquiry. He didn’t really find the voice familiar, but whoever it was was making Harper grin like a total idiot; then again, he probably just defaulted to that look a lot what with the weed and all. When he saw the girl standing over him--almost six feet tall, wearing all black accentuated by a white undercut and sporting the intimidating stinger-tail of a scorpioni--he felt significantly less smug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh...y’know what? It’s probably not important,” the rich guy choked out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh. Listen, man, if there’s any brains under all that hair product, I’d say it’d be wise of you to get lost and leave my friend </span>
  <em>
    <span>and his moms </span>
  </em>
  <span>alone. Is that clear, or do you need me to maybe rephrase that in terms you’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>understand</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” the half-scorpioni girl asked, giving the guy a brief flash of her whitened knuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright, I’m cool. Fuckin’ crazy dyke…” the guy spat in annoyance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, gross. And dated. And barely even the truth,” the girl laughed, pushing the thick, round-rimmed glasses up her septum ring-sporting nose, “Beat it, Don Draper.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a scoff, the rich guy took off. He did genuinely smell a bit like he was more hair gel than person. Harper felt his posture relax a bit and his breathing go back to normal. Looking down at his auburn-furred hands, he noticed his claws were unsheathed. When he looked back up, seeing the face of the half-scorpioni girl in front of him, he felt anxiety of a different kind consume him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay, Harper? That guy was a real piece of work,” Blossom Andromeda, his childhood friend, asked, voice venomous with disgust just mentioning the other fellow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah, I’m good. Hi, Bloss,” Harper felt practically breathless. His tail was wagging very noticeably, and it only made him feel more embarrassed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hey. Look, if he gives you shit again, come find me, okay bro? I’ll be in the library for most of my lunch period reading for philosophy class. I’m hoping this Kant guy is a page-turner...my hopes aren’t high, though,” Blossom said with a wry giggle. Her laugh was like a box of lit matches, and Harper’s heart was like gasoline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, boo! Boo, philosophy!” Harper laughed </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, question the meaning of </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you pretentious old white guys. Boom,” Blossom raised both middle fingers, the nails the colour of roses, “‘Kay, smell you later, Harper…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper’s mind was already acting pretty stupid, so he figured now would be a good time to try to organize a fairly stupid gesture. The two might’ve grown up together, but since the start of high school they’d been in separate corners of the world. Now was his chance to change that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blossom, wait!” the strawberry blonde-mopped magicat blurted out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Blossom turned around for a second, halting her exit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” Harper felt like the halls of Station 17 High were suddenly quite hot, “...So, umm, I was thinking...we have English class together. And, like, I mean, there’s a lot of reading and stuff to keep track of in English, so--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you getting at, dude?” Blossom asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, y’know, do you think you maybe wanna...come over and study sometime? Exchange notes? There are </span>
  <em>
    <span>reasons </span>
  </em>
  <span>for you to, uh, hang out with me. But, y’know, I mean, it’s whatever--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay, I’d love to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-you would?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, it’s no big deal. We’ve been friends since we were both babies. Our moms fought in the wars together. You don’t need an excuse to hang out with me. It’s just a ninth grade English course, I just need the credit. Not like it’s this huge undertaking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, y’know, you can’t be too careful! My moms are always saying to put the best into everything you do, even if it’s not that important!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, they would say that,” Blossom laughed again, sending more radiance through Harper, “Look, I gotta get going. I’ll come meet you by the front door after the fourth period and we can plan this thing a little more. Sound good?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sounds like the best news I’ve heard all day, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harper thought, but he only nodded, mortified that an answer like that might be too weird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re such an idiot, Meowmeow,” Blossom smirked and shook her head, the movement only further paralyzing her old friend, “See you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper stood glued to his spot, watching the tall girl in black take her leave. He still didn’t really know what it was that made her so...</span>
  <em>
    <span>alarming </span>
  </em>
  <span>for him, what it was about her that made every clap of her bootheels on the ground some sort of odd music to his ears. What he did know is that he was so excited he couldn’t stop himself from doing a little fist pump and whispering “yes” to himself. In all his bewilderment, he forgot all about the mound of books he was poised to put away, now scattered across the floor thanks to that aggressively well-to-do asshole; snapping back to reality, he realized he should probably get on that.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay wow! I ended up getting started with this thing way sooner than I thought I would, but it's finally starting! A full-fledged follow up to Martyr that isn't just 100% smut, yay! I hope people are as excited to explore Harper's story as I am. Some stuff happens, he goes through it and has to grow as a person, and I won't spoil it but the stakes are still pretty high even without a war going on. And yes, as you can see with the tags and description, I worked Finn (the actual Catradora kid Noelle and her wife came up with, who was created after the idea of Harper's character entered my brain so unfortunately I had all these ideas and materials that I didn't want to just throw out but I didn't want to ignore the more official material either) into this fic. We'll meet them eventually, give it time. For now, enjoy this brief little flashback thingy and introduction to Harper's world. More to come. </p><p>Best, </p><p>S_L_H</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Harper Meowmeow Versus The World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Today is looking like a fairly normal day for 20-year-old Harper. Another shift at cat mom's cafe, Grayskull Coffee Roasters, is in his schedule and he's as ready as he'll ever be. It's not much of an exciting life for the stoner catboy, but it's an honest day's work. Or so it would seem until he finally wakes. After enduring a prank from his sibling, Harper manages to make his way to work, where a surprise is awaiting him later that day. It's a surprise that will have him once again getting a visit from his childhood friend, Blossom Andromeda. This average day at Harper's 9 to 5 is about to get a lot more complicated, and not because someone ordered the orange pineapple mochaccino.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hats off and a big Royal Army 21 gun salute to PwiPwiPoo for betaing this yet again. Thank you for believing in me and keeping me company in this difficult time, as well as believing in this project and showing so much love for Harper and Blossom even back when this was still just an idea I had. </p><p>Best, </p><p>S_L_H</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 1: Harper Meowmeow Versus The World </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Harper!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shout was enough to almost throw the redheaded young magicat man in a rolling spin off the edge of his bed. He shot up, still wearing nothing but the baggy tank top with that prism he’d slapped on everything since high school and his boxers, trying to find the source of the image through his mop of hair. After some half-asleep deliberation, Harper managed to track the noise to his communicator. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That just made no sense. His alarm was usually ‘Wake Up’ by Rage Against The Machine, a song choice he intended as a bit of an ironic twist. That just sounded like...no, that couldn’t be right. Harper would’ve remembered if she recorded something like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’re you likin’ the new alarm, Harry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other unexpected voice made Harper jump a second time, albeit far less. He quickly selected ‘dismiss’ from the alarm’s options and tossed the communicator into one of his pillows. Looking towards the doorway, he spotted the culprit red-handed and bleach-haired. Only one person on Etheria and all her colonies called Harper ‘Harry’. Leaning against the door and dressed like some absurd gunslinger, red bandanna hanging from their neck, Harper’s younger sibling Finn eyed their brother impishly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” Harper rubbed the sleep from his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just sayin’ that </span>
  <em>
    <span>hypothetically</span>
  </em>
  <span>, while you were in the bathroom last night, your girlfriend and I may have made some adjustments to your alarm. Y’know, just some little ones,” Finn sneered knowingly. They had space mom’s eyes and just about none of her earnestness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was when Harper realized just whose voice that had been screaming at him. It was none other than Blossom. She had indeed been over last night, and Harper had indeed used the bathroom during that visit. Well, he thought he had, anyway. Either way, Finn’s insinuations about her made him scrunch his whole body up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s not my girlfriend,” Harper grumbled, “Also, it’s Saturday. Don’t you have Etherinet fans to stream to?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meh, the hijinks of my moronic brother outweighed the thrill of my audience’s applause. Don’t you have work to get to?” Finn taunted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit, he did have work today, didn’t he? That was precisely the reason he’d set an alarm in the first place. Had Blossom participated in this prank as payback for him sending her away early? She was an awesome friend and time with her was always...</span>
  <em>
    <span>something, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but he had needed his beauty sleep as early as possible; Saturdays were often loud over at Grayskull Coffee Roasters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean, yeah, but not for a while,” Harper explained. He always set his work alarm to chime an hour before his shift so he’d have time to wake up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure about that, Harry?” Finn sneered, flashing one of their sharpened canines at their big brother, “Maybe you should check the time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’d remember my--</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, shit!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper’s eyes darted to his communicator screen, picking it up off the pillow to analyze the digits. The clock on his lock screen displayed the hour as 10:30 AM. His shift had started half an hour ago. The catboy’s blood went colder than the cold brews he should’ve been serving to local Station 17 hipsters. Once he’d picked his jaw up off the floor, he glared over at his nonbinary sibling with pure bile. The spiky-topped blonde magicat was, however, of a far less lugubrious disposition. Instead, they were damn near rolling on the floor with laughter, clutching their sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, the look on your face!” Finn wiped a tear from their eye, their claws painted a pastel pink, “Fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>priceless</span>
  </em>
  <span>! You look like you ran through traffic!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this because I kicked your ass at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Black Ops</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Harper asked, groaning frustratedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tch. Dear brother, you know me. A sore loser I am not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I once saw you cry because I got the BFG in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Doom, </span>
  </em>
  <span>so I’m gonna call bullshit on that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t crying! I was...wearing mascara.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice try, piss-for-brains. If you were into my makeup, I think I’d know,” Harper got himself up off the bed, knowing he’d have to get moving soon. He was a little taller than his sib, but not by much; with five years between them and Finn probably not done their growth spurts, that was a little concerning. “I rest my case. This smells of grade A frontier farming town bullshit, straight from a corn field on, like, Demeter Secundus or one of those other shitty little agri-worlds.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn hunched their shoulders and huffed, blowing a tangle of blonde strands out of their hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay, fine...all you ever do is camp, moron,” they hissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, great, I’m gonna be late for work because I’m better than you at video games,” Harper hurriedly snatched his work clothes from under his bed, damn near knocking a probably still-full bong over in the rush, and pushed past his sibling, “Ah, fuck this. I gotta get going. This isn’t over, though, Finnley.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, what are you, our moms?” Finn grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper just rolled his eyes and continued his path for the bathroom. He had...well, basically </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>time to get ready, not to mention he had to pee like a racehorse. Kevin was probably going to give him shit for still having wet hair once he got there, assuming he wasn’t still spinning off some overly-wordy rant. Good thing Kevin was on deck today and not cat mom, elsewise the lecture Harper was bound to get would be a lot less eloquent. Kevin spun his chastising tangents with the same diction as he did his writings; Cat mom would’ve just burst into profanity, the old drill instructor demeanor never fading. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know, Harry, if you’re so insistent that that Blossom chick's not your girlfriend, why did I find a box of condoms in your nightstand?” Finn called down the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think the real question is why you’re going through my nightstand!” Harper called, already halfway through the bathroom door, “Fuck, I don’t have time for this!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper closed the door behind him with a bit too much force, a product of his frustration. In a scrambling flurry of fatigued movements, Harper threw himself into the shower and freshened up so quickly he didn’t even have time to appreciate the warm water. Hobbling out of the shower, only further hindered by the freezing cold of the air on his wet fur, he threw his uniform on as fast as he possibly could. That was probably about all he had time for, however. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The catboy barista barrelled down the stairs practically on all fours, using the speed and agility his cat mom gave him. He supposed a mad dash like this was only further aided by the two hearts he inherited from his space mom to boot. Speaking of space mom, he ran into her while passing through the kitchen, barely stopping to say hello as he continued his manic sprint onwards. The muscular blonde woman had the day off, going over some lesson plans down the rim of her square, red-framed glasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, hey honey, you're up late, aren't you--" Adora started, looking up from the spread of papers arranged across the dining room table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Can't talk gotta get to work love you bye!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Harper blurted out, giving a rough wave to his space mom as he ran for the door. He wished quite badly that he could stop and grab some breakfast for his famished stomach, but there was quite literally no time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Um, </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>...love you too," Adora called after Harper, feeling confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twenty whole years on the planet--this particular one, that is--and Harper had never once been late for...anything, really. Not by a margin like this, at least. It wasn’t an ideal start to Harper’s day, but the end was in sight. Grayskull was just up the road, the real estate strategically chosen for an optimal commute length when the business went topside, so once Harper hopped in the family van it would be a breeze. As he made his way out the door and came face to face with the driveway, however, whatever sense of security Harper had about his coming journey flew away on corvid wings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the...Son of a...I could’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>sworn </span>
  </em>
  <span>I asked her if I could borrow it!” the ginger catboy exclaimed, mortified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It appeared cat mom had...well, she’d taken the van somewhere. Harper knew she was heading into the city today to fill an order with the ingredients guys, but he figured she’d just get a ride with someone else. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>asked for van privileges last night, or at least that’s how he remembered it. Of all the days when cat mom decided to have one of her bouts of forgetfulness; for all Harper knew, cat mom might have ended up being late to her errand as well, and the stress just made it slip from her mind. Either way, this was a bit of a predicament. Harper could work the problem, sure, but damned if this didn’t make his life a heck of a lot harder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the van gone, it looked like Harper’s bike was the only remaining option. Biking would likely not waste too much more of his time--he could pedal pretty fast, and Grayskull was still only a few blocks away--but he still had to hurry. He swore to his First One ancestors, if that bike tire was flat, he was gonna make himself throw up and call in sick for the day. Mercifully, as he sprinted to the white-and-gold BMX leaning against the garage, he saw the tires were in working order. Now, it was just a matter of getting his groggy ass to work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ride over was a ride of frantic sidewalks, disoriented pedestrians and near-collisions with passing cars. It was a miracle Harper didn’t go flying off the damn bike head first. He felt a little like his moms, everything in the ‘verse trying to kill him. He might not have been a cyborg super soldier with a high-tech sword or a wily veteran who could take the head off a mole rat with nothing but a revolver, but he had...he had...well, that was a good point, actually. What did he have? Well, whatever it was--regardless of whether he was aware of its existence or not--it eventually took him to Apella Street; after nearly trampling the toes of a few more passersby, Harper found himself parked in front of his humble family business. Good ol’ Grayskull Coffee Roasters, home of the best espresso shots in the entire Etherian Parliamentary Government. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper sighed and let out an exasperated laugh. He still really had to pee. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How the hell did you not just go in the shower, doofus</span>
  </em>
  <span>? He asked himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Figuring he'd worry about damage control with Kevin first, Harper just finished locking up his bike and headed towards the cafe's front door. Every building on Apella--main street, as it was more commonly known--was a rustic pile of masonry, some of the oldest buildings in the Station (not counting the old Horde ones, most of which had been demolished or turned into war museums). Harper didn't have time to appreciate it, and after making the same commute to work all these times since tenth grade he was totally desensitized. Every minute he wasn’t making his way into the cafe was likely another minute Kevin was taking to add a word to his speech. Sure, it would probably be a collection of flowery, ornate prose, but Harper still wasn’t looking forward to it; ideally, he’d like to keep it concise, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door dinged like it always did when someone passed through it, a noise Harper had come to harbour negative associations with. During a lunch rush, that bell was as horrifying as the shriek of a mole rat artillery barrage. Business seemed to be at a manageable pace at the moment, however, and the invitingly dulcet brown-orange upholstery played host to a mere handful of patrons. Behind the counter, a Horde clone sized Harper up like he was a hitman tracking a target, his neatly-styled green coiff practically unchanged with age. There were perhaps few figures in Harper’s social sphere quite as larger-than-life as the bard-patissier polymath that was uncle Kevin; this was a bit ironic given both his moms were legendary war heroes, but he supposed he knew the sides of them that were more human and less...</span>
  <em>
    <span>canonized, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which certainly gave them a mundanity for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, isn’t this a surprise. The prodigal son is forty-five minutes late,” Kevin said with a kind of polite disdain, barely looking up from the bowl he was drying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, long story. Been at this since the tenth grade, I was bound to screw up eventually. Mind if I pop into the WC real quick?” Harper asked frantically, still catching his breath from the ride over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin brought his lime-coloured eyes up from the bowl, his gaunt brow furrowed. He looked upon Harper with the facial expression equivalent of that same disdain as before. It was a bit like the lanky redheaded magicat had walked in and used a booth as a scratching post. First Ones only knew Kevin had plenty of horror stories about that happening when Harper was a baby. Even if that wasn’t the case, Kevin appeared to be just as appalled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You walk into my establishment, my culinary </span>
  <em>
    <span>magnum opus </span>
  </em>
  <span>in which your mother and I have kept you generously on our payroll these many years, </span>
  <em>
    <span>forty-five bloody minutes late</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then have the </span>
  <em>
    <span>audacity </span>
  </em>
  <span>to ask for the toilet?” Kevin demanded, voice deadpan and numbed in that quietly restrained way he reserved for total irritation.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wow, it’s like he’s gonna deliver his lecture in parts. Asking questions for audience participation. Very classy, I’m impressed. Overall, 8 out of 10, maybe not my favourite angry adult lecture sesh but it’s definitely up there with the all-time greats, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harper thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Basically, yeah,” was all Harper responded with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin rolled his eyes and groaned. He said nothing for a few more seconds, taking time to slide the now-dried bowl into one of the knotty-walnut cupboards mounted on the wall behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, fine, just be quick,” the Horde clone relented. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No worries!” Harper blurted out, again breaking into a sprint towards the bathrooms. It was funny, Harper had read they used to gender those things on Earth-That-Was; now they just had “with urinals” and “without urinals” labels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he returned--perhaps even faster than he’d left--Harper was tempted to just mantle over the front counter and get straight to his station. He was coordinated enough to pull it off, or at least he was pretty sure he was; no amount of pot could cloud his natural cat abilities, not to mention he hadn’t toked in a good solid week and a half. However, even with no witnesses save a few sleepy older patrons, Harper knew a maneuver like that was another Kevin lecture waiting to happen. He just made his way through the gated bit and stood beside his boss; he was usually on prep, but there didn’t seem to be any active orders for the present moment. In a bit, Harper might check to see if the ingredient stash was sufficiently stocked--all the lettuce and tomatoes and things piled up, the condiments nice and full, and so forth--but for now he needed to collect his bearings a bit. So much had happened in so little time, and the catboy was barely awake at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s your hat? And why is your hair such a mess?” Kevin prodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, shit, my hat…” Harper had forgotten his customary cap in his rush. Twenty years and one topside relocation later and the basic Grayskull Coffee Roasters uniform was still a brown apron and hat worn over a black (or white, because Kevin and cat mom thought it’d be nice to give employees options for some reason) polo shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rough night, lad? General Scorpia’s girl taking you out to get plastered again?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? N-no, we played video games and...uh...she showed me her new bass," Harper explained, seeming perhaps a bit shamefaced, "Finn thought it would be just hilarious to set my alarm to go an hour and a half late.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah. Forever the troublemaker, that one. Well, you are forgiven, I suppose,” Kevin laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper would’ve probably ranted a bit about just how much of a troublemaker Finn truly was. He loved his little sibling--even though he freaked out a lot as a kid when space mom was pregnant with Finn and his moms still bothered him about it--but they were definitely a handful. Probably the worst of their offenses was their endless teasing about Harper and Blossom, always implying one dirty thing or another. Before the strawberry-blonde catboy could list off his grievances, however, he and Kevin were joined by a third voice. If Harper was a betting man, he’d probably put a lot of money on this third party’s presence being a big factor in why Finn was such a pain in the ass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Husband!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” a singsong voice called from the kitchen, “Do I hear our hippie kitten out there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin and Harper both had a dry chuckle at their coworker’s inquiry. That nickname never got old. Supposedly it was some callback to an in-joke with cat mom, but Harper never really figured out the details. It was a First Horde War thing. Best not to press his moms about First Horde War things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, my love,” Kevin replied, his face going into a huge smile and his whole body perking up at the sound of his spouse’s voice. Even Harper thought it was kind of astoundingly adorable, and he’d been raised by the one mushy couple to rule them all for the First Ones’ sake. “Afraid that sibling of his played a dreadful practical joke on him and his presence here was delayed. Perhaps he could use a bit of your charm to cheer him up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well! There’s an offer I can’t refuse!” Kevin’s spouse trilled rather excitedly. Harper didn’t think he was much to get excited over, but he was flattered by bibi’s spirits nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Returning from the kitchen in, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly the same uniform as the others, </span>
  </em>
  <span>bibi Double Trouble smiled and waved to Harper and Kevin. The green-skinned blotter reptilian wore their blonde hair in an elegant French braid, coming out the back of their cap and hanging over their right shoulder. Even if their methods were a little bombastic, they’d always been extra enthusiastic in their support of Harper. When he was a baby, Dee used to shapeshift into the form of one of his mothers and cheer him up; it was a pretty flawless impersonation, though supposedly they could get quite goofy sometimes (their words, not his). They had a muffin in one hand. Their scheme for today doubtlessly involved the baked good, a far cry from any elaborate disguising rituals. Harper didn’t mind that, of course; frankly, he’d be a bit worried for what sort of disguise Dee would use. First Ones forbid it was Blossom related. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning to you, dear Harper. Could’ve used your help during the breakfast rush, but oh well. Here. Looks like you could use a pick-me-up,” Dee tossed Harper the muffin. It was lemon cranberry; his favourite, in other words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hell yeah. Thanks, Dee,” Harper smiled. Breakfast had also been a thing he had to skip, and his stomach was starting to sound like the treads of a Storm Bull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just don’t ask me to smuggle you a whole batch the next time you get the munchies. First one’s free, but after that I’m gonna start making you take my shifts,” Dee grinned back at their young magicat coworker, then looked at their slightly unnerved-looking husband, “Relax, Minty. It was a leftover from my day old bag.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah. That will be adequate,” Kevin gave a quick nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still hits the spot. Seriously, thank you,” Harper steepled his hands in a weird, almost mocking display of gratitude, eager maw full of muffin to the point of borderline incoherence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well </span>
  <em>
    <span>seriously</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you’re welcome. Hope you’re not planning to keep talking with food in your mouth. You’re gonna make the customers barf,” Dee chided playfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper just snorted, rolled his eyes and kept chowing down. He’d been working with these two for years now. The two of them had gotten married right here in this very building, way back when Kevin and cat mom got the all-clear from General Scorpia--one of Blossom’s moms--to relocate topside. That felt like forever ago. Harper didn’t think he could just forget going through something like that with someone, even if he was just a little kid at the time. Sure, there had been other coworkers at Grayskull who had come and gone and been okay, but Kevin and Dee just made the daily grind (in an all too literal sense when it came to coffee) a lot more bearable and even fun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think you can get me a cup of special drink, too?” Harper asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, no. Your mama’s gotta order more Prospero Superblack,” Dee explained, their yellow eyes darting to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also, it costs a small bloody fortune and we can’t just give it away!” Kevin interjected frustratedly. The purloining of precious espresso had been something he’d gotten worked up about endlessly throughout the years, but it seemed Dee’s wiles always persuaded him to look the other way. Harper didn’t even want to know the specifics. He still hadn’t forgotten about the freezer incident, sheesh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, okay…” Harper rolled his eyes in disappointment, still savouring the mouthful of tart acidity and buttery sweetness as he finished his muffin, “...How about one small black coffee?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can ask again on your lunch break. You’ve got a missed breakfast rush to make up for, my strawberry-haired friend,” Dee taunted playfully, getting a minimal, forced-exhale laugh from Harper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright. I was gonna check the condiments and then maybe sweep the floor. If you folks get an order, you know where to find me,” Harper pitched the remaining paper covering from the muffin, then dusted the crumbs off his mouth-fur and headed for the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Find you</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Oh please, all I’ll have to do is shout,” Dee called after their coworker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tonsils like an opera singer on this one,” Kevin joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>say that…” Harper snarked, sticking his tongue out. If dirty jokes granted flight, Grayskull might as well have gained a side hustle as a starport between Dee and Harper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper caught a quick glimpse of his uncle-of-sorts turning chartreuse in embarrassment, his spouse just laughing along in good fun; they were both polar opposites when it came to that stuff public-wise. Nonetheless, there would be time for more ribbing and banter and what not later. Harper had a job to do, and that was that. He was groggy, his hair and fur were still barely dried, and he was in desperate need of a damn good cup of coffee to wash that muffin down, but the mayonnaise wasn’t going to refill itself. It got Harper wondering if there would ever come a day when his career entailed more than simply refilling mayonnaise, but it was something he had very little direction and even less motivation on, however. He was thankful his parents weren’t like Blossom’s; while space mom had occasionally poked at Harper about further studies (in a friendly way bearing minimal pressure, of course), cat mom had always been surprisingly explicit about not rushing her son. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You take all the time you need, mijo, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she’d say with uncharacteristic softness, her David Bowie-like eyes teeming with a bittersweet compassion, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want you to have the chance to find yourself I never got when I was your age. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>If Harper was going to find himself, he questioned if that discovery would occur at the bottom of a coffee cup. The drudgery of the day continued as it always did, Harper dashing back and forth and communicating in quick, snappy callouts to his coworkers as he prepped meals and organized ingredients. The lunch rush inevitably came and went and it was as frantic as ever, but Harper and the others eventually triumphed; he still remembered his first lunch rush, how he needed to smoke so much afterwards that his extremities felt numb and his thoughts were blank save the psychedelic rock he was blasting. Cat mom had been pretty good about the whole thing, but of course she had a business to run and food to serve up. When the present rush ended and the awkward reverse-nostalgia ended, the three were about to negotiate lunch and smoking breaks (Kevin and Dee smoked the odd cigarette, but Harper only touched weed...and the odd Czernobogian shroom when the mood arose). Kevin took his first as Harper had some ingredients he wanted to check on and...well, Dee was just a sucker for their husband. As the two of them continued about their tasks, both anticipating lunch eagerly, the door dinged and a patron entered. Almost instantly, however, Harper quickly realized that this was no ordinary customer: their presence was signalled by combat boots clacking across the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Sup, Meowmeow?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blossom Persephone Andromeda was a living antithesis to the idea of a girl going through a ‘tomboy phase’; it seemed that the older she got, the rougher and tougher she got in turn. Her impressive stature and lean, muscled build were only further accentuated by her style. The leather jeans, the old Royal Army stompers, the roughed-up Ramones shirt, the same messy silver undercut and that silver, half-moon ring piercing her septum...and just what was that outer layer she was decked out in?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Bloss,” Harper felt that similar weird tingling in his heart...stomach...pancreas...whatever it was, never failing to rear its head when his lifelong friend showed up, “I-is that your mom’s tanker jacket?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm, same one she wore in the big A. No mole rat bloodstains on it, sadly. Believe me, I checked,” Blossom grasped one side of the thick, worn purple coat, “I may have made some personal adjustments of my own.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper took his time dancing his eyes over each little button and patch, most of them representing bands and political slogans he didn’t really recognize. One of them had the hammers from </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Wall</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which was cool; Harper had spent basically all of high school begging her to give it a listen, saying it would change her life. Seemed like she finally relented. That, or she was maybe just doing it to get to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love it. Y’know, I mean, you’re taking something...old and, like, destructive and evil and stuff and you’re making it creative and cool! Like, that’s awesome and profound and shit!” Harper rambled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was the best you could do? Has working with Kevin taught you nothing about words?” Dee teased with a cackle from across the room, clearly not impressed with Harper’s response to Blossom, “Oh, and hi! If it isn’t the punk rock army brat herself!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to see you too, Double Trouble,” Blossom hoisted a middle finger and stuck out her tongue. Her nails were the colour of black cherries, the same as her lips. Harper felt an odd parallel between them and the red laser pointers his space mom used to use as a toy for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I truly wonder where you get this from between your moms, not that I’m complaining,” Dee cackled again, clearly impressed, “So what can we get you, corpse flower?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, dude. Not here for overpriced coffee,” Blossom turned her spectacled eyes back at Harper, “Bro, okay, so there’s this abandoned construction site at the end of Lycurgus Street, right? Right on the edge of town.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t those places full of rads? They probably noped the heck out of there for a reason,” Harper warned. Any area that hadn’t been properly scrubbed and terraformed was generally regarded with suspicion, not to mention legal trouble; probably all the more reason for Blossom to indulge in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’d think! My geiger counter read all clear, though. Not a single tick to be heard. Wait, though, it gets better!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I’m listening.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, okay, okay! So this place must’ve been abandoned pretty early on, because...wait for it,” Blossom paused for emphasis, “Horde shit, my friend. Look, I know a guy who would pay us a fortune for that junk--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds kinda illegal,” Harper objected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, it’s illegal…” Dee muttered with disdain and sarcasm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My thoughts exactly, my fine nonbinary pal. So anyway, you in, Meowmeow?” Blossom asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, what the hell. My shift ends at 7, you can--” Harper started. Speaking of his shift, he sure hoped no other customers walked in right about now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“7? My dude, no. We are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>waiting eight hours for this. Every lost minute is another minute some other scav could be picking apart </span>
  <em>
    <span>our </span>
  </em>
  <span>hard-earned find!” Blossom leaned into the exaggerated melodrama, her voice sounding not at all distinct from the narrator of an Etherinet radio drama, “We gotta get in there, Meowmeow!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bloss, I’m in, but I don’t think I can just </span>
  <em>
    <span>skip work</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that--” Harper began, laughing nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, man! Where’s your sense of adventure, your rogueish moxie? How can it even be possible that you and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>freakin’ Lord Protector, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the chick who swashbuckled Thaddeus Typhon and his goons off Ahriman like she was Indiana fuckin’ Jones or something, are related?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well, y’know, she’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>cool once you get to know her--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harper! I do declare! I’m telling Catra you said that!” Dee gasped with mocking outrage, “Nah, I’m totally kidding, keep going. This is great.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper looked over at Dee, sitting on a counter near a sink with their legs rocking eagerly. He then looked back to Blossom, finding pretty much the same energy. She looked at the ginger magicat down the rims of her glasses with something between impatience and excitement. Harper was dutiful and took his job as seriously as he could; hippie slacker that he was, every shift the catboy snagged in this place was a gift, and his mom was generous for giving him this position. He was a good kid. Not that good, however; not above a little corruption.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay…” Harper sucked in a breath, staggered that he was doing this, “Dee, you good to cover my shift?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dee laughed so hard in response that they threw their head back. There was enough force behind the movement that they damn near bonked themselves on the cupboard above the sink. They recoiled, startled, eyes looking a bit like gold coins in their wideness. Finally, their hyena laughter settled and they brought their eyes to Harper’s, gold coins opposing verdant marbles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And there it is! Oh, Harper my dear boy, I’d be delighted! Who am I to deprive you of some quality time with your manic pixie dream girl here? There’s just one thing, however. One tiny condition I have,” Dee explained gleefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah?” Harper asked, confused. He was a little nervous about what was coming. And just what the hell was a manic pixie dream girl? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to get laid tonight. Make this count, buddy,” Dee sneered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper froze, blushing under his auburn fur. He looked over at Blossom, who stared over at him with unblinking eyes. Her irises looked almost as wide and oversized as her glasses. Her olive skin looked like it was going pinkish as well. Finally, the two broke the silence as loudly as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be gross, Dee. What part of ‘I am not his girlfriend’ do you not understand?” Blossom scoffed, “Also, it’s the fifty-first friggin’ century. We have spaceships, robot arms, fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>space magic </span>
  </em>
  <span>for crying out loud, but I guess a guy and a girl still can’t just be friends without it being weird. Wow, maybe our forefathers were right to sit back and shoot bombs at each other until Earth was a lifeless, glowing desert!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. Can’t a guy and a girl be friends, Dee? Come on. Get with the times. Sheesh. Damn,” Harper spat out awkwardly. He felt like his insides were in knots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, of course, forgive my glib nonsense. You kids have plenty of good clean platonic fun tonight, then,” Dee’s smirk hadn’t faded, despite their words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, good! We will!” Blossom insisted, “Come on, Meowmeow!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On my way, friend!” Harper blurted out. He untied his apron, frantically running over to the kitchen closet to hang it up while avoiding all eye contact with Dee, and walked out through the gated section of the front counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper waved goodbye to Dee awkwardly, the green-skinned blotter still wearing their shit-eating grin. Evidently Blossom saw it too, for she let out a disgusted groan as she and Harper headed for the door. As the two childhood pals headed for the exit, Harper caught Kevin out of the corner of his eyes. The Horde clone, munching on a cubano, held his hand up in a seeming gesture of halting Harper. The ginger magicat groaned, figuring this meant Kevin was about to veto his plans with Blossom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hey Kevin, we were just--” Harper started to explain. He felt a bit like he was getting cut off a lot today. It seemed his luck was pretty rotten; then again, he was currently being sprung from work by his best friend, so maybe not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need to explain. I heard everything. I’m with my Dee on this one, lad. Make tonight count,” Kevin ordered with the utmost seriousness before breaking into knee-slapping laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh...let’s get out of here, Bloss,” Harper grumbled as he waved to the door. The half-scorpioni girl just nodded in response, looking utterly done with this situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the two of them made their exit, Harper took in just how much busier Apella Street had gotten. The rustic masonry of Station 17’s early topside days was practically overrun with souls coming and going from shops, banks, and other locales. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man, what was their deal, anyway? Not like it’s their business…” Blossom grumbled. The stinger at the end of her crimson, chitinous tail was curled as if to strike. Between all those times she used to beat up his high school bullies, Harper knew just what that tail could do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They can eat a bag of dicks,” Harper concurred as the two of them started down the street, the afternoon sun illuminating everything brilliantly. Harper never saw the sun until he was maybe six or seven years old, back when Finn was just a baby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the two of them got going along the egg-frying hot sidewalk, tempered by the immense Etherian summer sun, Harper froze. He noticed his stomach was making some fairly unholy noises, and it was certainly a little concerning. He felt kind of sore, too, in that dull way brought on by hunger. In his enamored haste to join Blossom in her little urban exploration scheme, it seemed he overlooked the detail that he hadn’t yet taken his lunch break. Well, shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay, dude?” Blossom asked, clearly taking notice of her magicat friend’s sudden discomfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Oh, y-yeah, it’s nothing. Just haven’t eaten since breakfast, and all I got was a muffin, so--” Harper began to ramble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I get you. All good man, I’m starving too. Come on, we’ll go to Matheo’s. I’m buying,” Blossom waved a cherry-nailed hand forwards in the general direction of their favourite greasy spoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you sure?” Harper checked. He had some recollection that she was saving her money for university, so he didn’t want to go too crazy with her generosity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course, dude. Can’t go scavving on an empty stomach,” Blossom smiled, eyes pinching around the corners beneath her spectacles, “Now come on. Those mozzarella sticks aren’t gonna eat themselves.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>mozzarella sticks?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell yeah we are!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper smiled in excitement. Matheo's was decent enough for pizza, but their mozzarella sticks...well, let's just say Harper could probably inhale like three orders of those, and that was while he was sober. He took his place walking beside Blossom, their gait practically in sync. The footfalls of her old boots made his tail wag; crazy to think that those things had once trudged through the blood and guts of the Second Horde War, back when General Scorpia and cat mom were liberating Ahriman. Harper cared nothing for the history, though (which would probably annoy the hell out of space mom). He simply associated the noise with his childhood friend, the solitary external constant in his life, and thus couldn't help but find it wonderful. He was willing to bet the mole rats found the noise of Royal Army feet marching near to be a lot less wonderful, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matheo’s was a skip and a hop down Apella from where Grayskull was, not even requiring the pair to cross the street. The relatively long-standing pizza joint was remarkably well ventilated, consequently sparing patrons from the worst of any airborne grease; unfortunately, the place still got quite hot during the summer months, and today was no exception. It was worth it, though. Harper ordered a pineapple slice--both his and cat mom’s favourite, though space mom </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>it--and Blossom ordered a vegetarian slice. The person behind the counter said the mozzarella sticks would be a couple minutes, but they’d bring them out as quick as they could. Harper would’ve considered maybe asking for dips, but he didn’t want to push his luck given Blossom’s big uni plans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, umm, do you need me to run home and change or anything? I’m still in my work clothes, dunno if they’d be much good for scavving…” Harper asked, taking his seat in the booth closest to the front door. Blossom sat across the table from him, already stuffing her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. I like this. It’s cute,” the half-scorpioni punk mumbled through a mouthful of pizza. If anyone told her it was rude to talk with her mouth full, she’d probably tell them to fuck off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper felt his shoulders tense for what must’ve been the millionth time today, his nimble magicat frame locking up like space mom’s power armour in a gravity well as he felt himself get flustered. Did he hear that right? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you just…?” Harper’s voice went squeaky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well, I mean, I didn’t mean like </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute </span>
  </em>
  <span>cute. I just meant it’s cute...eh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>platonically</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You know what I mean? Sure you know what I mean. ‘Course you do,” Blossom swallowed hard and then cleared her throat awkwardly, as if to signal that she was done with this matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, no, I get you,” Harper said with a wink, digging into his own pizza, “You and Finn got me pretty good with the alarm thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm?” Blossom nodded, having bit off a bit too much to talk with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm. I was pretty damn late, and that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> rushing myself out the door as fast as humanly possible,” Harper cringed at the memory, “I didn’t even have time to piss, for the First Ones’ sake.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blossom laughed so hard she almost spat out her pizza. She coughed and sputtered for a minute, then returned to business as usual. Harper thought that maybe it would’ve been good to get some drinks too, assuming she was gonna keep taking massive bites like that. He didn’t want his friend to choke. Be a pretty embarrassing headstone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously? You’re such an idiot, Meowmeow,” Blossom giggled before coughing a little more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, yeah,” Harper shrugged, laughed along with her, and had a bit more pizza. He found it was best to just laugh along when being ridiculed. More fun that way, less worrying. “How’s the internship goin’? Have you seen any cool chrome yet?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! The Arrowhead thing!” Blossom’s whole body perked up with excitement, “No chrome, no, not yet! Well, ‘cept for my boss’ arm. Hard to believe such a softie was a General like my tall mom once. Fought at big A, Nemesis, one of the Demeters...no, wait, was that…? Yeah, no, it was Demeter Primaris. But like...dude’s a puppy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He sounds like a fun boss,” Harper smiled. He might’ve known who Blossom was talking about, but he wasn’t sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm! Yeah, pretty much all I do right now is take phone calls and bring him tea, but I feel good about it! Gonna keep studying biotech when I’m in uni, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the way in Bright Moon? With your plant mom?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the dream! New Cairo and Astarte are my runner-ups. I guess with New Cairo, I’d be close to Arrowhead at least. Think maybe they’ll offer me a real position there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit yeah. They’d be stupid not to take you, Bloss,” Harper’s clover eyes went melancholy for a moment, “We’re still gonna hang out, though? When you make the move, I mean. Like, obviously, I’m not saying you should--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Save your breath, Meowmeow. ‘Course we will.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s cool if you can’t anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harper, chill. I promise you that you won’t get rid of me that easily.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just now occurring to Harper that he didn’t often hear Blossom use his name in casual conversation. Sometimes, it felt a bit like she only used it when she was being serious about something. That, or...uh, well, Harper didn’t want to think about that lest his fur go a deeper red. She looked over at him, a bit hard to take seriously with the marinara stains along her mouth, with something a little less cavalier than her usual demeanor. There was maybe some genuine warmth in there for a minute, maybe just because she was sure no one was looking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blossom must have been pretty certain there were no eyes on the two of them, because she went in an unexpectedly uncharacteristic direction from there. Her hand brushed against Harper’s for a moment, coming to rest on his fur. Harper swore he let out a small ‘oh’ in utter shock, his mind tuning to dead air all the while. He would’ve likely only been further trapped in that limbo between shock and joy were the two friends not interrupted by their server. Mozzarella sticks were always welcome, of course, even if they did cut into...moments, or whatever word Harper would use for what just happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them finished their substantial lunch with a bit of a gentle pace. Blossom had been busy with her Arrowhead internship for the past couple of weeks, so they had some catching up to do. Last night’s visit had been brief, and though it was still their first reconnection in half a month, they still had so much to talk about. Granted, much of what Harper had to say was far less career-driven or politically-charged as what Blossom had to say; he didn’t mind, though, simply happy to be there with her. When they were done, they surmised to start the long walk for Lycurgus, and eventually they arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lycurgus was one of the oldest streets in town, paradoxically also one of the ugliest. The place had been the site of an earlier attempt at going topside, only to get stunted when bandits attacked the expedition and sacked the terraformers. General Scorpia and the Spartan League had restored parts of it, but just barely. Thus, it was littered with abandoned lots like this. A run-down tract hiding old Horde ruins, though...that was something of an anomaly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, here we are,” Blossom said rather chillingly, combat boots rooted in the dead sand as she gazed out past the chain link fence at the overgrown scrapheap beyond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not for lack of effort. Yeesh, I’m winded already…” Harper panted, hands on his knees. He hoped he wouldn’t have to get any dirt on his uniform from this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, come on, Meowmeow. Helped you burn off all those calories from lunch, didn’t it?” Blossom taunted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess…” the catboy huffed, still doubled over. His side felt like it was cramping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright…” Blossom scoped the place out, looking over the fence a few times and ignoring the warning signs indicating fines for trespassing, “...Hmm. Should be no biggie. I’ve handled worse. Okay, dude, I’ll head in first and scout ahead for us. You good to hop the fence? Bet those claws could help with that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jump the--” Harper laughed nervously, “You sure this is a good idea, Bloss?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Positive. Like I said, this dude could help us make a killing if we find anything. Why, you scared?” Blossom asked, already planting a bootheel on the rusted chain links. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I-I mean,” Harper stuttered, feeling his guts drop just watching Blossom scale the decrepit fence, “I think I’m having a ‘what would space mom do’ moment. I feel like she wouldn’t be crazy about the whole breaking in thing, y’know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, can’t have that…” Blossom muttered as she got to the top of the fence and hopped down, rolling when she hit the ground. Harper could practically hear the eye roll on her voice. “What’s she gonna do, go She-Ra on us? Right, okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, that’s about what I figured. Why, you feelin’ one of your denial rants coming on?” Harper asked teasingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” Blossom took a deep, frustrated breath, “I’m not telling you how to think, okay? All I’m saying is that the idea of an absurdly chromed-up god warrior from an ancient human civilization coming in with some bigass sword and leading Etheria to the promised land is just...well, it sounds like something outta </span>
  <em>
    <span>science fiction</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t you live on a spaceship for a while?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, so?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper guffawed, nearly choking to death on the irony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I don’t get it!” Blossom demanded, bewildered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, oh geez...it’s nothing, nevermind,” Harper found himself catching his breath again, wiping a tear from his deep verdant irises, “So, I take it there’s no way I’m getting out of this one, then?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome to go back to slinging macchiatos with your uncle and bibi, dude,” Blossom smirked. Even if it wasn’t obvious in her words, her look was blatantly egging Harper on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So no, in other words,” Harper looked the fence over. If he moved fast enough, he could probably track his way up the thing easily. “Oh, what the hell.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting a bit of a running start, Harper sprinted forward in a cat-like stance and hopped onto the fence. Latching on with his claws, he managed to bounce his way halfway up the old mess of rust already. He was a little awkward, being no athlete himself, but he made the climb relatively unscatched. His feet almost slipped a couple of times, and the old, sharp metal dug into his hands in ways that were less than comfortable, but eventually he managed to get to the top, hop down, and make a less than graceful landing. Cats might land on their feet, but cat-human mutates weren’t as reliable. He probably got it from space mom, really; by all accounts, the First Ones had designed their warrior caste for a number of situations, all of them lacking in subtlety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, don’t tell me you’re beat already,” Blossom sneered, holding a hand out to help her magicat friend to his feet. Even in this context, he felt his mind go numb as their hands touched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some of us weren’t on the Station 17 High soccer team five years in a row, Bloss,” Harper grumbled, dusting himself off. This little misadventure had barely begun, and he already had dirt on his uniform. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Go Spartans</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Blossom jokingly cheered, “As I recall, you still had time to come to every game.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess,” Harper laughed awkwardly, face going warm, “Just needed a place to do my homework when Finn got ornery.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ornery</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Okay then…” Blossom looked like she wasn’t buying it, then shrugged and waved a hand, “Let’s just get a move on, Meowmeow. In the time it took me to get your sorry ass out of the dirt, some other scav might’ve snatched our loot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper was a little nervous, but also a little curious. Besides, he had Blossom here to protect him; if any scary bandits or radioactive monsters snuck up on them, she'd probably beat the shit out of them. The two wandered further into the ruins, past an outer perimeter of familiar EPG-style architecture. It was a network of decrepit old Hab units, probably Second Horde War era. Eventually, however, they saw something buried in the sand that took on a cyclopean, brutalistic, decidedly...</span>
  <em>
    <span>greenish</span>
  </em>
  <span> look. It was unmistakable; Harper had seen the photos in the history books. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Guessing that's our Horde ruin?" Harper asked, but Blossom was already rushing ahead, tail arched with intrigue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh my First Ones! This is...this is…" Blossom stammered, wandering around the fallen green-yellow towers, looking over a broken window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is what?" Harper pondered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is...</span>
  <em>
    <span>boring, </span>
  </em>
  <span>actually. Kinda figured there'd be more dead bodies an' junk. Ah well, I'm sure some of this crap is worth something. Ooh, check it out Meowmeow!" Blossom scurried ahead and vaulted over the broken window. When she returned, boots making little crackling noises against the mess of dead insects, broken glass, and spent shell casings, she was wearing an old gas mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lookin' good, bandit," Harper giggled, smirking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Get out of here, stalker</span>
  </em>
  <span>!" Blossom joked, putting on a bad Slavic accent. She took the mask off, letting the broken oxygen hose fall to the ground with a dull </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>. "When do you think this one's from? It's gotta be post-reformation, maybe from the Unification Wars…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'd say have space mom look at it, but, uh…" Harper put a hand to the back of his neck awkwardly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Probably too busy shilling jingoistic propaganda and filming commercials in that stupid costume," Blossom groaned, "Ahem. Sorry. Well, whatever it is, I'm sure we'll get paid. Bet there's more crap further in. Let's hustle." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper thought briefly about objecting to the blatant shit-talking of space mom, but he let it slide. You did stupid things for someone when they gave you hearts-stomach-pancreas butterflies. The two wandered deeper into the old Horde fortress, taking in the dilapidated sights of rotted fascist grandeur (a bit of an oxymoron, those two words were): crumbling statues of Horde Prime, rusting guns and armor, propaganda posters promising the final solution of Prime's light and to make Etheria great again. Banners displaying the twisted wings of the Horde insignia littered every wall, torn and molding. There was a manic scavenger hunt of picking up anything that looked mildly interesting and light enough to carry--guns, uniform bits, medals--before the two took a minute to collapse in a decrepit hallway and rest. The sun was hanging a little lower now, and a pumpkin-colored glow was shining through every crevice in the awful, decaying slab of steel and concrete. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I guess I can consider tuition paid for after this," Blossom joked, toying with the busted RED-9 pistol she found. The loading mechanisms had gone to shit ages ago and the magazine was missing, but for some reason the stock was still intact. Harper's cat mom owned a few RED-9s and even an LP-8, both pricey Horde sidearms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Might have to keep some for yourself," Harper smiled. He was wearing an old Horde officer's wedge cap that was a bit too big for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What, old war junk or money?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The second one." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh! Well, yeah. Gotta keep buying mozzarella sticks for your idiotic ass, right Meowmeow?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I mean, that's always welcomed. Especially if I'm high. Oh god, mozzarella sticks and weed...s'like ambrosia, Bloss." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Donuts and weed is usually my go to." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh! That--that's a winner, not gonna lie. Yeah, that's a good one," Harper paused, looking over at his friend for a minute. The way she looked in the early-evening sun was...bewitching, if he could call it that; blood orange reflected on her glasses, hair like liquid mercury, cherry lips seeming just a little more enunciated. "Thanks for taking me out today." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Taking you out, Meowmeow?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, I didn't mean it in like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> sense, I just meant...y'know, out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, yeah. I'm just screwing with you, pal. I got the picture," Blossom laughed dryly, "It's no biggie, dude." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I dunno, I'd say it is." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh yeah?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hell yeah, Bloss. I'm...I…" the words caught in his throat, knowing he couldn't say what he had on his mind, "I just think you're really cool." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I just think you're an idiot,” Blossom punched Harper’s arm playfully. Even when she was trying to be gentle, she was still a great deal tougher than the lanky magicat hippie and the impact actually hurt. “Right, so I’m gonna pick a couple of things that I think this collector dude will pay the most for, try and fit ‘em in my pockets, and then we can grab dinner at my place. Sound good?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coolio. Your moms gonna be chill with me eating dinner with you?” Harper checked. He didn’t like inviting himself over for things, especially when it was one of the Andromedas’ ever-fancy dinners; they were always rife with fancy Plumerian fruits and vegetables, and the General always had some strange vegan thing prepared which she didn’t mind sharing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My moms aren’t home, man. Meeting with the school and the Spartan League as they are known to do. But hey man, s’all good. We had a massive stir fry last night, I’ll heat us up some of that. How about it?” Blossom punched Harper’s shoulder again, but the pain was significantly numbed by other thoughts this time around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her moms weren’t home. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her moms weren’t home. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Despite that, she was still inviting him over. That was usually a good sign. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Harper said as his tail began to twitch, “Yeah, sounds good.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Should I Stay Or Should I Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harper and Blossom head home for dinner and some casual chatting, their scavenging haul in tow. They're such good friends. And nothing else. No sir.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 2: Should I Stay Or Should I Go</b>
</p><p><span>“Wow...Professor Hendricks’ cooking hasn’t changed a bit.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Harper sat parallel to Blossom, cross-legged on the floor while she sat spread out on the same flowery loveseat. The ginger magicat’s tail wagged eagerly as he slurped some tepid-but-delicious noodles, his mouth filled with the salt of soy sauce and the spicy, umami notes of some of the Professor’s finest crops. Harper had gone to the Professor for another kind of crop many a time, though the weed she sold him was typically not the stuff she kept for herself; the last time Harper smoked that he practically went into a coma. She was a connoisseur of fine veggies and weed, it seemed, but Harper was far from on her level. </span></p><p>
  <span>“Geez, dude. It’s been three weeks, how much change could there be?” Blossom laughed, the setting sun lighting a fiery silhouette behind her as she shoved a knot of udon into her maw, “Still a bit too hot for me, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spicy hot or microwave hot?” Harper asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The former,” the half-scorpioni tomboy’s eyes were actually watering a little bit. Harper couldn’t help but giggle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you tried telling your moms about how you can’t handle spice?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>totally </span>
  </em>
  <span>handle spice! I had a pound of hot wings at your birthday last year! Just...ugh, not like this,” Blossom cringed, a light sheen of moisture staining the interior of her glasses, “I’m gonna go see if I can drown it in more soy. BRB.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper laughed and shook his head as his childhood friend got up off the couch and headed back to the kitchen. As she walked past, she punched him in the shoulder again, nudging him in such a way that he got a bit of sauce on his uniform’s white collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, shit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harper thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Guess that was bound to happen. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The living room was like a picturesque, nostalgic, vaguely-familiar caricature of all living rooms. It had that sort of feel of a place that one recalled from one’s dreams, like it had been previously visited but also perhaps not. Surely the decor was the work of General Scorpia, old upholstery and blank wooden bookcases against a grey-brown carpet; welcoming in an odd way, perhaps prioritizing genuine human togetherness over any aesthetic substance. Perhaps the only marking feature that the Professor had any hand in the room’s arrangement at all was the bead curtain connecting it to the kitchen, that and a Plumerian spider plant sitting rather lonesome near the couch. The telescreen to Harper’s left was an older model from before even the reformations, one that Harper could believe the General dug out of a Station 17 scrapheap in the days of yore. Hard to believe she might’ve had some scavving days at some point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blossom’s repurposed tanker jacket wrapped around one of the loveseat’s arms, inches away from the spider plant. Laid out on the floor in front of the squishy sitting place was Harper and Blossom’s combined scavving haul, partially piled into Blossom’s old backpack. The two of them had retrieved a couple of items--guns, old Horde </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reichsmarks</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a faded medal inscribed with some indecipherable bit of Horde battle language--just to look the craftsmanship over, though. Blossom made a bunch of jokes about how the Horde were ‘fucking fash scum’ and she would’ve liked to maybe cave a couple of their skulls in, yanking the loot from their still-warm bodies. Her morbidity was such a weird thing for Harper because a lot of the time he felt a little like saying ‘damn, you really just said that’ but most of the time all that came out was a laugh and a nod. Besides, it was violence against Horde scum, and considering what he’d heard about them from his moms that was chill with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay! This is better! Not by much, but better!” Blossom called as she returned, heralded with a clattering of ultramarine beads. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, hey, long as you’re not burning your tongue, I guess,” Harper ran a hand through his strawberry mop. It kept getting in his face and he didn’t want to be finding bits of sauce and veggies in his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And all it took was to load ‘er up with my sodium intake for the next two weeks,” Blossom flopped back down on the couch, reclining against a makeshift pillow made from her bunched up coat, “Life is short so eat a whole pizza by yourself, as tall mom always says…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper took a minute to process why exactly that was relevant. Then he got it. He did recall the General saying stuff like that a lot when he was younger. It was funny, he didn’t see Blossom’s parents much these days. Suited him just fine, however; there was a lot that he and Blossom couldn’t get away with when they were around, stealing from an exclusion zone least among them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sound advice,” Harper continued to suck in some more spicy-salty udon and veggies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck yes,” Blossom took another huge forkload of her own bowl, then sat up. Her Ramones top was coming untucked in places, its baggy and torn black surface displaying a faded eagle insignia. “Speaking of sound advice...I was wondering what you were up to these days. You haven’t mentioned much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper admittedly hadn’t mentioned much because there </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>much. He found it was easier to just get himself lost in listening to folks talk about what they loved and what they aspired to. With Blossom, this process was exceptionally smooth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, y’know, working in cat mom’s cafe. Maybe I’ll join the Royal Army or something. Go see the universe, be a hero,” Harper tried his best to answer the question. Admittedly, the summons was certainly a pathway that had crossed his mind; he’d grown up on tales of the Horde Wars, of great struggles on the soil of faraway worlds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The army? Yeah, that’ll be the day…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I could be a soldier! Hell, one of my moms was literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>built </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be the perfect soldier...oh, wait, you don’t buy that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. I don’t. Especially considering that one time we were playing out in the field behind your house and I accidentally kicked you in the nuts. You cried for </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours</span>
  </em>
  <span>, dude.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were </span>
  <em>
    <span>like 11! </span>
  </em>
  <span>And that’s not a fair example and you know it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm, mhm, yeah, I guess,” Blossom took a minute to eat some more noodles, “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re as cute as a little kitten.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m what now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up. You know what I mean, idiot,” for a moment, the punky scorpiongirl looked poised to punch Harper again, or maybe even repeat that incident from when they were 11. It seemed she decided it ultimately wasn’t worth it, however. “But seriously, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>army</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Nah, that’s not you. What do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>want, Meowmeow? Like actually want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper knew what the answer was to that question. He’d been pretty certain of it since high school, maybe a little before then. He knew the answer every time he heard the sound of sauntering Royal Army boots. That was really the only obvious answer he could conjure. He knew he couldn’t say that, though. Not for lack of effort, of course, but it never went well. He cursed himself for always being trapped in this stupid, pining thought loop, wishing he could just be happy with whatever it was he had already; but he had shoes to fill, born of two women who toppled a dictator with their kiss (and a hearty serving of sword swings washed down with bullet bursts), and it felt almost as if longing was some sort of hereditary curse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I mean…” Harper started, desperately trying to formulate how he’d recover from this. He felt his cheeks go flush, his shoulders lock, his verdant eyes avert. “...Does anyone know what they’re doing at 20, Bloss? Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blossom stayed mum for a moment, regarding Harper with a blank stare. In a rather ridiculous moment, she took a long strand of soy-slathered udon on her fork and messily inhaled the whole thing without breaking eye contact. The catboy almost laughed, but he was maybe a bit too nervous about what Blossom’s response might be. Eventually, however, she proved there had been nothing to worry about. Brushing a loose silver strand out of her eyes, she answered with a slow nod and shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is...</span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>a very good point, dude,” she concurred, “I mean, shit. I got lucky with this internship. I like it right now, but who knows where I’ll be at in a couple years. I dunno, maybe I’ll just move to the frontier and live in my car for a bit. Play with a band, say fuck you to all the bourgeousie nonsense for a bit. That’d be the dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Totally,” Harper nodded. It did sound kinda perfect, though there was one thing he’d change were it up to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was around this time that, out of the corner of his eye, Harper noticed the pitch darkness beyond the bland, bone-white blinds behind Blossom. Between laying the artifacts out, taking pictures for the collector, messaging the collector, and actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>haggling </span>
  </em>
  <span>with the collector (oh First Ones, was this dude ever pedantic), he’d sort of lost track of time. His eyes quickly darted to the clock resting on the old telescreen’s bulky, flat top. It was almost 11 already. Waves of panic coursed through him, his fur standing on end and his tail flicking anxiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit…” Harper gasped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay, man? You look like someone just stepped on your tail,” Blossom asked, actually looking genuinely concerned. No one was around, so Harper guessed she felt a little more chill being soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just…” the ginger magicat set his bowl down on the carpet, then hurriedly rose to his feet, “...It’s late.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Once more unto the breach then, eh? Awright, Meowmeow. I’ll see you out, come on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Bloss.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want, I can put the leftovers away and you can bring ‘em with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay, I gotta get going,” Harper was already feeling a little on the sleepy side, knowing full well if he didn’t get out into the evening air he’d probably end up not getting out at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blossom flashed her catboy friend a rare, warm smile and waved for him to follow her. The two traced their steps out from the living room, through the kitchen and to the front door. Harper hoped it wouldn’t be too cold out, but he wasn’t terribly worried; Station 17 summers were some of the warmest on the planet, and not just because of the residual radiation left over from terraforming. As Harper started to tie his canvas sneakers, though, he got dropped an unexpected yet extremely welcome proposition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, you could always just crash here,” Blossom drawled, clearly trying to sound a little inconspicuous, “With my parents out and about, it’ll be a hell of a lot less awkward.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Uh…” Harper bolted up, kicking his shoes off with speed that was definitely not inconspicuous. He felt the familiar warmth of flusteredness crowd his cheeks, turning the auburn fur pink. “...Thank you. That’s awful nice of you. Y-you sure they wouldn’t mind? I don’t want you to--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What they don’t know can’t hurt ‘em, Meowmeow,” the half-scorpioni punk leaned against the wall with the coat hangers with the aloofness of a frontier gunslinger. At that moment, Harper felt very small. “Besides, we’ll just put you up on the couch. It’s not like you’d be, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>in my bed</span>
  </em>
  <span> or anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, good, good, thank the First Ones. Can’t very well make weird jokes about us then, can they?” Harper laughed the stupidest laugh he’d probably produced on record, barring some of the noises he made while high, “Which is gross, because we’re just a guy and a girl who happen to be friends!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm! And nothing else!” Blossom blurted out, though her body language was much too cool what with her continued lean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep! We are friends! Friends is what we are!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Right</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was at that moment Harper realized that Blossom was a lot closer to him than he thought. The musculature of her arm still rested against the wall, but it was as if she’d been slowly leaning herself further forwards. He was right there in front of her, and all he could do was laugh his odd, squeaky little cat-laugh and stare onwards at those deep brown, bespectacled eyes of hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, anyway,” Blossom finally spoke. It was as if an awkwardness had lifted from her voice. “You coming?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh...Oh my god, Blossom, I’m--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All these years of doing this, and Harper still felt underprepared. She was like a huge wave of the most delicious water, running over him lavishly as he let himself submerge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Not. Yet.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“R-right…</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ohh...</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This whole time they'd been at this, those were probably the most coherent sentences they'd been able to string together. Harper figured this was because, well, he liked being </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside her </span>
  </em>
  <span>a lot, and she evidently liked him inside her too. She liked it so much that she'd returned to being incomprehensible, shouting out for him as she continued to ride his length. The sensation of her bringing herself up and then coming back down again in quick succession just melted Harper, her heat and wetness all he could think about. Their messy cries of intermingled pleasure continued to echo against the clutter of Blossom's bedroom, the two of them unrestrained by fear of being caught. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was just so amazing, and Harper didn't know how it was he was here. His hands were gripping her waist, feeling the corded muscle and smooth olive skin of her back, while hers were on the fur of his neck. When they started, slamming Blossom’s door behind them and collapsing into hungry kisses, Harper had laid her down on the bed--or more accurately, she let him lay her down--and began the act above her; eventually, though, she wrestled control away, flipped him over, and took his place. Not that he was complaining, of course: Blossom looked so powerful over him, from her confident and toned body to her wild hair. That was without factoring the actual naughty bits in, but those were without a doubt perfect too. Harper dated a few other girls over the years, but nothing ever compared to Blossom...even if they weren’t official. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Harper! Don’t stop! Don’t--</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Blossom managed to string together a few more coherent-yet-breathy syllables before being cut off by her own impassioned outcry, her body tightening, head thrown back, tail stinger slumped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was enough of a visual cue for him to let whatever self-containment he had go. Harper ran his hands up her back, teasing the smooth skin and small chitinous plates there with his excited claws, pumping into her for a few more delicious moments. As he nudged her downwards and tilted his face to hers for a kiss, he felt himself find his release and fill the condom he wore. The redheaded catboy tensed and let out a soft mewl, muffled as he leaned further into her lips, and without further ado the two disengaged. The two longtime paramours now lay back on the bed, gazing up at the cherrywood paneling of Blossom’s ceiling, both out of breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S-so,” Harper panted, feeling just now how dampened his fur was with sweat. The moisture in combination with his disrobed form made him feel a little chilly. “D-did you…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>seriously</span>
  </em>
  <span> still need to ask?” Blossom let out an exhausted, completely brainless belly laugh, “Fuck yeah I did, Meowmeow. Oh, geez, gonna sleep like a baby tonight…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knew it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? The fuck do you mean? Then why are you askin’, dumbass?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a tell.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Scuse me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-your tail, it…” Harper started, making an awkward gesture with his trembling, still-clawed hands, “...Droop snoot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Blossom laughed again, “Did I fuck you so hard you had a stroke, dude?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The pointy bit, the...the </span>
  <em>
    <span>snoot</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Harper started, still moving his hands around frantically. His hair was a hot mess and Blossom looked like she was living for it. “It droops. Like, when you...uh…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cum?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah, that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah. Makes sense,” Blossom still sounded like she was trying to catch her breath, “Well, you grab my wrist with </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> tail when I’m jerking you off, so I’d say we’re even for weird tail behaviours here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I mean, I can try to stop that--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t. I like it. It’s hot. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> hot, like, in general, dude,” Blossom rolled over to face Harper, briefly patting the fur on his tummy, “Go clean yourself up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper nodded and hopped off the bed, hearing its springs let out one final squeak. He brushed past the various boxes, book piles, game cases and discarded clothing that littered the floor, taking a second to marvel at the veritable art gallery of posters affixed to his half-scorpioni lover’s walls (punk bands, horror movies, fighting games with gore fountains every which way). He ran to the bathroom--Blossom had one right in her room, further demonstrating that her moms spared no expense with this house--where he pitched the messy condom and washed up. When he returned and saw Blossom spread out on the bed, completely exposed in all her sharp-edged beauty, he couldn’t help but blush. They’d just had sex, the latest in a long line of sexual encounters, and he still felt stupidly giddy seeing his cute half-scorpioni friend naked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, umm, thanks again for letting me stay,” Harper said awkwardly as he moved back towards the bed and flopped down on its plush surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s one way of putting it,” Blossom let out a sleepy laugh, rolling over to face her secret lover of many years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, can I run something past you?” Harper sheepishly asked. He was tired and still riding the surreal high of having just made love to his best friend, so he figured he’d try his luck with a dumb question he’d tried to ask many times before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? You haven’t run enough past me already tonight?” Blossom’s voice went heavy with innuendo, her hand brushing the fuzzy interior of Harper’s thigh before coming to briefly tease his manhood. He nudged the hand off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not like that…” Harper smirked, rolling his eyes, “...When are we gonna make this official, Blossom?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Meowmeow?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanna be more than just a hot lay to you. More than just a notch on your belt. I just thought...like, I mean...why can’t we have a thing like the thing my moms have?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, well, you’re definitely more to me than all those things. Like, I didn’t just tell you to get lost once we blew our loads, right? And that wouldn’t be a very impressive sex-notch-belt-thingy, bro. It’d have like...two notches, maybe three tops.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, who were the others?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, first one was Rachel McNabb--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What? Her?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? We played soccer together. It wasn’t a big deal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, no, of course, I just...she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>gay</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm. Very. Buried in the closet, though. Hard to believe we still have homophobes. Proof that two wars weren’t enough, I suppose.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely. And number 3?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“3? Oh, 3’s stupid, I don’t wanna get into that…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I getcha, Bloss.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm. Right,” Blossom hoisted herself up with a muscled, lightly-chitinous arm, “Just...try not to overthink this, okay? We’re two idiots who are good at sex and generally enjoy each other’s company. That should be enough, especially in a world like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” Harper mumbled, though admittedly if he wasn’t so sleepy he would probably have disputed her further. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I gotta take a leak. You just rest, okay? Today was awesome and tonight was...well, I mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>droop snoot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. ‘Nuff said,” Blossom giggled as she kissed Harper’s forehead and hopped off the bed. He ended up with a clear view of her butt and felt himself blush all over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is with you and always having to pee after sex?” Harper asked with a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good for you. Helps prevent UTIs. Go to sleep, stop worryin’ about stuff,” Blossom made her way to her WC, sticking her tongue out at her sleepy catboy paramour as she turned and close the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay…” Harper trailed off and shut his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sleep didn’t come to him easily, and when it did it was light. What he and Blossom had right now was fun and warm and sexy in all the right ways, but he just couldn’t help but wish for more. The cloak-and-dagger nature of their dalliance had been almost adventurous for a while, but he soon found himself feeling pangs of jealousy every time he opened a history book to a wartime photo of his moms. He and Blossom could’ve been the same, could change Etheria together. Maybe he was just a dumb kid, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He awoke not long later when Blossom returned, feeling the bed bend as she plunked back down on it. Still sleepy, he just pretended to be asleep and kept his eyes shut. Soon, he felt her embrace, arms wrapping around him and holding him close as she pulled the covers over their naked forms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You smell like peaches, you know that? How is it that you always smell like peaches…?” He could hear her mumble with a sleepy laugh, “Goodnight, Harper. I l--ahem. I think you’re an idiot. Sleep well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was some odd ambiguity to Blossom’s words, ambiguity that might have filled a more conscious Harper with a kind of optimistic curiosity. He was too trapped in the clutches of sleep to analyze anything further, though. Everything just sounded like nonsense, but it was still enough to lull him off to rest. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. My Eager Eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The morning after Harper's night with Blossom, he stays long enough to make some breakfast and endure some overt awkwardness from one of Blossom's moms. Even if he still feels a little torn up inside, it's still a beautiful morning. Once he's on the road again--not before some more quality time with his super-secret lover--things take something of a turn. It all starts when Harper bumps into a former classmate of his, the debonair and silver-tongued N Weyland (better known as Entrapta's son).</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>PwiPwiPoo is yet again betaing my work (I'm gonna be namedropping them in every chapter at this rate) and they're awesome and I could easily sing their praises all day. They just dropped a Doom/SPOP crossover where Adora is trans and also the Doom Slayer. Kinda makes me want to write a Wolfenstein AU as a companion piece...</p><p>ALSO, CW for various homophobic language, sexual objectification of women, and general mediocre cishet man antics. Yeah, minor spoiler but N's a douche.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 3: My Eager Eyes </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was birdsong coming from outside Blossom’s window, accompanied by a brilliant vermillion summer sun. Harper thought that the way it illuminated all the little curios scattered across his lover’s room was quite striking. It was a little like he was suddenly trapped inside a museum exhibit, stuck behind glass and carefully-placed lighting. Despite how nice it would have been to awaken to this, however, Harper was not stirred from his restful, cuddly sleep by any of this. Instead, he awoke to the sound of his communicator vibrating against Blossom’s nightstand, rattling the wood and glass like a set of wind chimes from hell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nudging one of Blossom’s toned arms off of him, Harper reached over to the nightstand with some exertive stretchiness. He loved being Blossom’s little spoon--he probably got some of the best sleep in his life when she held him like that, truth be told--but her time as one of Station 17’s star athletes definitely took its toll on his mobility. Her embrace was like a vice grip; she may not have inherited the General’s clawed arms, but she made up for it in raw power. Nevertheless, Harper managed to snag his communicator from its resting place with some mad, frantic yoga pose of a reach. He hit the power button and the screen blinked on, displaying the same lock screen image he’d had for two years in the running now: it was him and Blossom on the ferris wheel at the local VE Day festival, the summer after he graduated high school. It was quite the night, complete with bad carnival food, dropping too much money on rigged games, letting Blossom convince him to go on a scary roller coaster...and some late-night naughty business in a nearby field. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finished his brief moment of waxing nostalgic, his eyes darted to the little notification clouding his screen. The text message was from cat mom, and Harper couldn’t really say he was surprised. He braced himself for some expletive-laden rant about how he was skipping work, figuring this would be the first </span>
  <em>
    <span>and last </span>
  </em>
  <span>time he’d ever get away with that little trifle, but was pleasantly surprised to find no outrage. Cat mom’s texts were consistently a messy scrawl--odd, given her work as a columnist at the local newspaper--but they were generally legible at least. Hell, the awful spelling made them almost humorous. The message read: </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catmom Meowmeow: hi mijo hope u r ok herd u werent @ work also found ur bike out beside cafe. y didnt u take van? was in garage w keys waiting 4 u. xoxo hope ur feelin better h bom (heart emoticon) </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as Harper suspected, word salad with extra dressing and soggy croutons. He temporarily took a moment to breathe a relieved sigh at the fact that Kevin and Dee had seemingly covered for him. That combined with Finn’s little alarm joke should’ve formulated a decent alibi for why he wasn’t at the cafe for his shift. Glancing over at Blossom, Harper took note that she was still sound asleep. He felt proud of himself for that. Quickly, he started to work on his reply. The screen seared at his tired retinas, certainly hindering the process. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me: Yeah I’m okay, dw. Shit, sorry I missed the van. Finn thought it would be a good idea to prank me and set my alarm to go off late+I had a bit of a headache so I called in sick and took the day off. Went to the Andromedas’ to relax. Stayed the night. Feeling a lot better now. (happy face emoticon). </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catmom Meowmeow: relaxing with blossom eh (winky face emoticon) tall buff girls amirite? ur just like ur cat mom u know (another winky face emoticon) </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me: She. Is. Not. My. Girlfriend. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catmom Meowmeow: would u prefer i use another word? frens w benefits? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me: CAT MOM. STAHP. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catmom Meowmeow: ok mijo whatever u say (another stupid fucking winky face emoticon) </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me: (angry emoticon) (eyeroll emoticon) I’ll be home later, maybe around noon. Guessing space mom needs me to pick Finn up from that tutoring thing she’s making them do?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catmom Meowmeow: yep u kno the drill. shes got planning stuff after so no drive. btw do u want me 2 chew the lil brat out a bit 4 makin u l8? they get this from adora u know (laughing emoticon)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me: That’s okay, thanks. Think I’ll just kick their ass at Blops again when I get back. In the meantime I think I’m gonna make Bloss and I breakfast.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catmom Meowmeow: ok u just keep having fun w ur girlfriend h bom (another goddamn winky face emoticon) </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me: CAT MOM STFU </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catmom Meowmeow: ok ok lol c u l8r mijo </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me: Are you ever going to start typing more coherent texts lmao? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catmom Meowmeow: no</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As if I didn’t already know the answer, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harper thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Figuring he’d better make good on that idea for breakfast, the catboy did his best to roll out of Blossom’s burly embrace and get out of bed. He looked back at his mercury-haired paramour, still snoring peacefully and seemingly out stone cold. Harper surmised she truly wasn’t kidding when she said that last night’s sex was going to grant her good sleep. She looked quite peaceful like that, nevermind beautiful; seeing her without her glasses always shocked Harper a bit since he’d come to think of them as her signature, but she was still stunningly pretty without them. He looked her over a couple more times, buried under the old green-and-red cover the Professor had made for her when she was younger, and headed out to surprise her with breakfast. Or so he thought, that was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning, cutie…” Blossom mumbled out, voice still clunky with sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper felt a hand snake its way from the back of his thigh to his butt, finding his tail and suddenly yanking it. He let out a high-pitched squeak, that same silly screech he emitted every time he was startled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I told you to stop doing that, Bloss!” Harper spun around, face red as red could be. He was just now noticing he was still very naked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I recall, what you </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> said was ‘harder’. Your words, not mine,” Blossom snickered, the covers thrown back to her waist to reveal her smirk (among other things). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, okay, maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>sometimes</span>
  </em>
  <span> I like it...but generally, stop it!” Harper squealed, his embarrassed mug half-covered by a curtain of strawberry hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, I’m pickin’ up what you’re putting down,” Blossom stretched her muscled arms above her head, yawning. Her chitinous tail joined in the stretch, its pointy bit poking out from the covers. “So what’s got you up, Meowmeow? It’s a Sunday morning, perfect for doing nothing at all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect for nothing indeed,” Harper agreed. Sundays were typically the laziest of all his lazy days, which naturally was </span>
  <em>
    <span>all of them</span>
  </em>
  <span> to varying degrees. “Thought I’d make us breakfast, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, because those words never lead to disaster…it’s funny, I would’ve thought the coffee shop busboy would be a decent cook, but alas, no such luck,” Blossom taunted, one arm propped against her pillow and holding her chin up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, come on, I’m not that bad. I’m getting better at not burning my eggs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a start. Well, Meowmeow, it’s the thought that counts. I think it’s adorable that you wanna pamper me like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, shut up…” Harper looked at his feet, hands behind his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And miss out on revelling in how much more adorable you are when you’re flustered? Please,” Blossom laughed, “Okay, dude. Go forth and bring me some eggs that aren’t a charred mess. Kiss me first, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Uh, not a problem.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper leaned over the bed and brought his lips to Blossom’s, every bit as soft as the day they first kissed. Not quite as voracious or full of physical wanting as the kisses of the night before--lips and tongue and teeth all locked in some sort of lustful waltz, soft muffled moans cutting through the air like scalpels--but that was just as good. Harper practically thrived on the tender moments he got with Blossom, the moments where his lover was actually willing to get sweet and cuddly. Like everything in their odd little relationship, it happened behind closed doors; no PDA to be found between the two of them. That didn’t change the fact that Harper would’ve donated his left kidney for some PDA with her, some time where she was showing him off to the world. Oh, well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help yourself to some clothes, too. I dunno when my moms are getting back, so maybe don’t streak your way to the kitchen,” Blossom offered before rolling back over, seemingly going back to bed, “Been meaning to clear out my wardrobe for a while. Not to mention everything’ll be too big for you and you’ll look super cute.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Radiant with blush, Harper smiled at the sleepy half-scorpioni in spite of her turned back. He made his way to the hefty old ebony dresser across from the bed, etched with various grotesque little doodles Blossom had dreamt up and carved with a knife (or maybe her tail), and took a bit to go through the drawers. After picking his boxers out of the mess of his work clothes--still strewn all over from when Blossom tore them off last night--he settled on a pair of deep indigo jeans, a little long but surprisingly snug, and a massive black hoodie displaying a cracked Royal Army helm utop a screaming skull; it was the insignia of Blossom’s favourite band, the political punk outfit Etherian Idiot. Harper had listened to all of their albums until he memorized each verse and while it wasn’t his thing in the slightest, he just did it anyway because Blossom was so enamored with them. Considering some of the shit-talking they did about the Royal Army, Harper was frankly shocked that Blossom’s parents hadn’t objected to her little musical hyperfixation. Perhaps they were just happy to see their daughter inspired to take up music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bounding down the headache-inducing spiral staircase connecting the first and second stories of the Andromedas’ surprisingly modest abode, Harper made his way past another bead curtain--this one a pinkish hue, as if the Professor was going for trans pride flag-themed beads, which made sense--into the absolutely spotless kitchen. There were bowls of strange Plumerian fruits, jars of exotic spices brought in from faraway agri-worlds...it was just now occurring to Harper that the Andromedas might not actually have </span>
  <em>
    <span>eggs</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The tyranny of veganism worked in mysterious ways like that, even if the Professor had long since given up and Blossom was at best ovo-lacto-vegetarian. However, a quick trip to the fridge--littered with little magnets depicting flowers and weird artsy suns--confirmed he had nothing to worry about. Carton of eggs, loaf of brown bread (because of course they had brown bread), bit of the General's imitation cheese...all set. If he was being honest, Harper preferred the imitation cheese to the real thing; in fact, generally any vegan food he bummed off of Scorpia was kinda better than the regular thing in his opinion. Not that he’d ever tell a single soul, of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slapped a bit of margarine in the middle of a skillet and cranked the burner to medium heat. While he waited for the stovetop to fire up, he popped four slices of bread in the toaster for later. Eventually, the margarine started to melt and bubble, and Harper cracked two eggs with a little bit of awkwardness; he still remembered the time he squeezed too hard on an egg at work and got yolky gunk all over his outfit. Cat mom spared him the usual screwup lecture seeing as how she was too busy laughing. These ones snapped and drained their interiors with relative ease, however, and judging by the shape they took in the pan Harper felt good about them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time passed and the yellow-white masses began to solidify and bubble in the pan. It’d be time to add the imitation cheese soon, and after that it would only be a matter of sliding the cheesy eggs onto the toast--lightly buttered, of course, just like how they did it at Grayskull--and serving them up. He was pondering whether Blossom’s continued snoozing signified whether she’d want breakfast in bed or to be woken up and brought downstairs when a noise froze him. His fur ruffled, his tail suddenly stood straight up and then began to sway, and overall realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Someone was at the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Someone was at the fucking door. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper honestly sort of wanted to scream and hide under a table or something. He wanted to run upstairs, tell Blossom her moms were home </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>earlier than either of them would have anticipated, and climb out the window in a desperate getaway. This bizarre retreat almost occurred, with Harper beginning to turn his heel in preparation to sprint back to Blossom’s bedroom. However, he remembered that the stove was on, and that certainly didn’t leave him with much wiggle room lest he start a fire. He panicked for a bit, eyes darting from the eggs sizzling in the pan to the hallway leading to the front door. Damn near hyperventilating, Harper swore he was about to scream when the door creaked open and he utterly froze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blossom, sweetie, you up yet? I’m back!” the Professor called from the other end of the house. There was a long pause. “Hmm, if you’re not up, then why does it smell like there’s something cooking? Unless...oh no, she must’ve left the stove on!” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh brother, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harper thought to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, here we go. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper stood awkwardly in the kitchen, as rooted to his spot as a gnarled oak tree, as he was suddenly no longer alone in the room. A tall woman in a green suit and floral-patterned tie suddenly burst into the kitchen, a metric shitload of baggage trailing her. The thick frames she wore were identical to Blossom’s, with the sole exception being their square shape. She looked around in a panic, her flowery blonde locks almost hanging in front of her face in a floral-patterned golden curtain. When she noticed the anxious, tensed-up catboy in the corner, she smiled weakly and sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Harper! How are you, hun?” the Professor pushed her glasses up her nose, “You’re certainly here early.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Professor Hendricks! Y-yeah, I was just in the neighbourhood and thought I’d stop by! Just wanted to say hi to my best bud from high school, see how her internship is going! Th-that’s all!” Harper stammered awkwardly. He looked to the pan. He was gonna burn the eggs if he didn’t extricate them soon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My </span>
  <em>
    <span>students </span>
  </em>
  <span>call me Professor Hendricks, kiddo. To you, I’m just Perfuma. We’ve been over this,” the Professor--er, Perfuma--smiled warmly at Harper, though he still felt as coiled as a spring, “Speaking of Blossom, where is that little cactus flower? Guessing she would’ve had to be up to let you in, so--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah! Think she’s just getting ready. Getting dressed, showering, stuff like that. I showed up pretty suddenly, what can I say?” Harper explained in a bullshit gambit to hide the truth. Hopefully his story wasn’t too outside the realm of possibility to sound fake (and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> fake, so if it sounded fake that would make some logical sense). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, makes sense. Couldn’t get her out of bed with a forklift, I swear. Seems you’re making up for it by making her breakfast, though? Quite the gentleman. Twenty long years and you haven’t changed a bit, Mr. Meowmeow,” Perfuma tousled Harper’s reddish mop, only serving to make his already-messy hair even more tangled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, heh, my </span>
  <em>
    <span>teachers </span>
  </em>
  <span>called me Mr. Meowmeow. To you, I’m just Harper!” the ginger magicat joked as he hurriedly hoisted the eggs out of the pan and got them onto plates. He just now realized he’d somehow forgotten to retrieve and butter the toast in his frightened, mind-melted state, and cursed himself as a result. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah! And there’s the old Harper wit! Like I said, just as I remember!” Perfuma was smiling at Harper again, clearly happy to see him around the house after his absence, but he barely looked up from the breakfast sandwiches he was working on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as Harper thought highly of both Perfuma and General Scorpia, he was secretly hoping Blossom would wake up and bail him out sooner rather than later. Making small talk had an undertone of hefty awkwardness to it after last night, and he didn’t trust himself to keep formulating bullshit excuses forever. Perfuma taught biology and botany, not crime or law or even history or anything like that; nevertheless, Harper still feared she’d read into his lies sooner or later, like a lawyer decoding alibis. It worried him a great deal. Luckily, before she could say much more, his metaphorical ship finally came in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hey plant mom. Thought I heard you come in. I trust this idiot wasn’t too much trouble?” Blossom appeared like an apparition at the far end of the kitchen, stealthier than a Royal Commando, wearing the same Ramones shirt from last night and some sweats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blossom! Good morning! Oh no, not at all! Harper’s a sweetheart, same as always!” Perfuma reassured her daughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, good,” Blossom sauntered over to the kitchen counter adjacent to the stove, coming to Harper’s side. The magicat didn’t notice his tail brush against his clandestine paramour’s hand and wrist for a moment, eliciting a quick glance from her that might’ve contained something close to a wink. “And look at that, he didn’t burn the eggs. Looking good, Harper.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper felt his eyes look away to some distant, unoccupied corner of the room, laughing nonchalantly. Even if he was trying to sound nondescript, it still sounded full of flusteredness. He knew Blossom was just talking about his egg sandwiches, but he wished she was talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Part of him wanted to be flaunted, for her to make it abundantly clear that he was her’s and vice versa. That was a distant desire for another time, though. Perhaps for never. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, hey, happy you like them,” was all he said in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What Harper was also thinking of at the moment was something a bit more practical. Warm egg sandwiches were delicious (assuming that was your thing), cold egg sandwiches were rubbery, sticky messes. He was going to let Blossom know to start eating it before it got cold, but just looking at where she was at right now he deemed it pointless. Already, Blossom was shoving the greasy whole-grain toast and its eggy payload past her cherry-red lips. If one were to commit the cardinal sin of judging a book by its cover, they might assume Perfuma would’ve chastised her daughter for not being ‘lady-like’; she never did such a thing, though, doubtlessly knowing from experience how annoying aggressive gender norms could be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like it?” Harper asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, man, you really are getting better...yeah, this is hittin’ the spot. Thank the First Ones, I was freakin’ starving…” Blossom mumbled through a filled-to-the-brim maw, sounding very satisfied. Harper felt full of pride. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I guess we could say this is payback for lunch yesterday,” Harper smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your debt is repaid, my humble vassal. You performed adequately and your tithe is to my liking,” Blossom said with a mockingly-regal voice. Under different circumstances, Harper might’ve found the whole playing-at-royalty thing to be quite hot (for lack of a better term). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if the fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>little possibility just popped into his head wasn't enough, Perfuma went and did something that sent things in an even worse direction. Harper probably should’ve deduced that it was only going to be a matter of time before she pulled something like that. Between Blossom’s moms and Harper’s moms, it had been a never-ending stream of these sorts of jokes and remarks since time immemorial. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, aren’t you two cute!” the straw-haired Plumerian academic exclaimed with something between warmth and teasing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blossom froze, the nibbled sandwich hanging in front of her mouth as if time itself had stopped. She was making a face that could have been accompanied by a record scratch sound effect. The half-scorpioni tomboy glared at her jarringly distinct high-femme mom, eyes just as dagger-like as the poisonous stinger on her tail. In that moment, Harper knew full well what sort of direction this conversation would be taking. He practically had the whole thing memorized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Define ‘cute’,” Blossom demanded, voice blank and seething with restrained annoyance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, gosh, I’m being a little presumptuous here, aren’t I? I just--you two remind me </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>much of Scorpia and I when we were your age--” Perfuma started, but Blossom cut in with the same general energy she cut into most political discussions with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Plant mom! </span>
  </em>
  <span>We talked about this! I’m not his girlfriend! Like, why does everybody assume that because I’m a girl and he’s a guy, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be a couple? Enough with this comphet bullshit!” Blossom ranted, her complexion reddening like she’d gotten a bad sunburn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, give it a rest Prof--uh, missus Perfuma! Real disappointed in you!” Harper joined in. In all fairness, however, it seemed her academia had certainly helped her read people and see past bullshit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodness! Comphet? Oh, no, no, I’m sorry! Cactus flower, I know you dated a girl in high school and your bisexuality is </span>
  <em>
    <span>super </span>
  </em>
  <span>groovy and valid, believe me! And, I mean, Harper might like boys and other people too for all I know!” Perfuma put a hand over her chest in embarrassment, right over her flowery tie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper felt himself pinch his brow at that suggestion. He definitely didn’t like boys. Well, he was pretty sure. Most of the guys he went to school with were pretty damn repulsive, that was for certain. It was a good thing he had a 6-foot-tall secret lover to beat them to a pulp when they got too unruly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, it’s okay, you two can tell me! Scorpia might make some jokes about it but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>promise </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s not weird. And I feel like I should take the time to remind you that this is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>sex-positive household and you can express yourself--” Perfuma continued. Blossom’s knuckles were noticeably whitened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Plant mom! </span>
  </em>
  <span>You’re legit embarrassing me so goddamn much right now!” Blossom blurted through gritted teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s okay to be embarrassed, but there’s really no need, I promise! I could get your tall mom here and the four of us could all--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, of course! Wh-while we’re on the subject of embarrassing things, though, if you or Harper are ever feeling a bit awkward about going to the store for...umm, </span>
  <em>
    <span>protection</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’ve done it hundreds of times and I can--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no! No no no! You’ve said enough! Shush! Go unpack, rest your tired old bones!” Blossom had put her sandwich back down on her plate now, standing behind her mom and pushing her forward with her cherry-nailed hands on the Professor’s shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright. I see some other things haven’t changed, eh Harper?” Perfuma turned her rectangular-spectacled eyes towards Harper, then fixed them forwards, “Well, I suppose I should go get settled...hope you have a nice breakfast, kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Plumerian Professor took her bags up in her hands--surprisingly load-bearing for such a slight woman--and sauntered away towards the stairs. As she was moving out of the room, Harper swore she turned and winked at him. The subterfuge clearly wasn’t working; she saw through it. Well, at least they were official to </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeesh…” Blossom huffed as she went back to her sandwich, “Is she gone yet?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think so, yeah. I don’t hear her anymore,” Harper said with a shrug. Having bigass cat ears did indeed come in handy sometimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool, cool. Well, in that case…” Blossom trailed off mischievously. Harper’s tail began to quiver with anticipation. “...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pshpshpsh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper’s whole body instinctively perked up, standing perfectly straight as Blossom’s baggy sweater hung off of him. His verdant eyes widened to the size of fat grapes as he felt drawn to his half-scorpioni paramour’s odd little noise. Slinking over to her, she wrapped her arms around him, back facing her, as she pulled him back further into her embrace. Harper smiled and felt himself go slack in her arms, beginning to purr maddeningly. Yep, he savoured those soft moments. Sex was cool and all, but cuddles were definitely equally welcome too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Blossom murmured in his ear, gently stroking his shoulder and neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gotta stop doing that, Bloss…” Harper’s voice was soft and gentle, intermingled with his rumbling purrs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s so cute…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could just ask for cuddles. I’d come right over all the same.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, where’s the fun in that?” Blossom’s right hand came to stroke Harper’s strawberry hair. The left hand had somehow traced its way to cupping his butt. “Work today?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Harper replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got time to stay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean, your parents are home…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, come on, we’ve dodged ‘em before. We can cuddle in my room and sit in different corners when one of them knocks. If you were up for it, we could sneak into the fields and I could give you a probably-awkward handjob.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, th-that </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>genuinely tempting, not gonna lie,” Harper laughed, admittedly feeling himself twitch south of the border. No sex like awkward outdoor sex. “Sorry, Bloss. I gotta go pick up Finn from tutoring later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Boo! Oh well. I mean, that still gives us a couple hours." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I guess it does.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm, and we can spend it all making up for lost time…” Blossom brought her lips to Harper’s neck, kissing him gently. Her mouth still felt a little greasy, but he didn’t mind one bit. “You seem to be in better spirits than you were last night, by the way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Better spirits than last night? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Better spirits?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Harper was entirely unsure of that. He didn’t really feel like his lover had done much of anything to ease his mind; he wanted to be something more, she wanted to rest in the status quo, it was all very frustrating. He’d pushed the issue in the past, and it had often really only led to arguments those times. Things were...</span>
  <em>
    <span>fine </span>
  </em>
  <span>as they were, he supposed, and he didn’t want to risk ruining this moment. All that was more than enough to persuade him to keep his mouth shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m doing better. Try not to overthink it, right? Just like you said,” Harper reassured Blossom, trying his best to sound believable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. All that bullshit about ‘true love’ or whatever is just chemicals and electricity compelling us to bone. Easier when you think of it that way. Life’s too short for much else,” the hand Blossom had on her catboy paramour’s butt delivered a quick squeeze there, then nudged Harper off of her, “Go eat your sandwich, idiot. It’s getting cold.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper decided he’d comply, flashing Blossom a quick, playful grin as his head stopped spinning. Butt grabs were nice. They almost took some of the nihilistic sting out of her words. He picked the greasy stack of toast and eggs up off his plate and munched away, every now and then turning his eyes to Blossom so he could admire her razor-sharp beauty in the morning sun. What they had was good, he wouldn’t deny it, probably even good enough by most civilized metrics. They were young and busy and maybe a little cynical, and they were just doing what they had to do to balance their schedules with their friendship and...needs. So why, just why on the First Ones’ green Etheria, did he feel this awful want to be something </span>
  <em>
    <span>else</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harper ended up heading out the door a little later than his planned noon departure time, getting out Blossom’s door with one last super-secret kiss and butt pat around 2. It was probably not a big deal, of course, seeing as how Finn didn’t wrap up with space mom’s weird little private lessons for another hour. The lateness was well worth it; there were more top-secret cuddles to be had between the two of them, and Harper did end up getting that outdoor handjob. Hell, he even had enough time--or </span>
  <em>
    <span>made </span>
  </em>
  <span>enough time, more accurately--to return the favour for Blossom. She’d fallen back in the grass when they were through and made a joke about how Harper’s technique was thankfully quite distinct from the turkey-stuffing she’d heard about from other vulva-havers. He didn’t get how a problem like that could even exist. It literally wasn’t that hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Harper made his way up Hoplite Lane, once again on his way to the fray of Apella Street, he was feeling a bit brooding. He’d had a fun morning, sure, but he kept running Blossom’s words from last night and today over and over again in his head and feeling...</span>
  <em>
    <span>discomfort. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Was that really all love was? Chemicals and electricity? That tingling in his hearts-stomach-pancreas-wherever was really just some thoughtless biochemistry? It was so...</span>
  <em>
    <span>empty, </span>
  </em>
  <span>so cold, that it made him almost want to weep into his bundled-up work clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nearing Apella, Harper was about to quickly discover that the ruminating he was immersed in was soon to be the least of his worries. As he rounded the corner into the familiar dried blood-red brickwork of the main drag, preparing to backtrack his way through the same commute he made yesterday, he bumped shoulders with a pedestrian and spilled his work clothes all over the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit, I-I’m sorry! Are you okay? Here, l-let me--” Harper started, looking over the incapacitated traveller. He could’ve sworn he recognized the black-and-purple-haired young man from somewhere, but he couldn’t pinpoint where. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All good, my friend, all good. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Maybe I should be apologizing to you,” the stranger said with a sigh, dusting his well-tailored pinstripe suit off. Harper caught a glimpse of a cybernetic eye’s cobalt glow beneath the fellow’s right-parted, chin-length hairdo. Between the suit and the eye--bulky, austere thing, probably a Dryl model--this guy must've been quite well off. “Hey, you look familiar…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, good, thank the First Ones,” Harper’s hands darted to the ground as he hurriedly picked up his work shirt and pants, “I’m not going crazy. You look familiar too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh, yeah! We went to school together, maybe had a class in the sciences...Your name, it’s…” the well-dressed outsider trailed off, bringing a pensive and well-manicured hand to his chin, “...Harold or Harkonnen or some other thing with an H, I wanna say.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harper! Yeah! Harper Meowmeow! And you’re…?” Harper asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course, where are my manners? Name’s N, N Weyland. Ringin’ any bells, kiddo?” this well-dressed N fellow asked. It seemed to Harper like a strange name, though he’d recognize the surname </span>
  <em>
    <span>Weyland </span>
  </em>
  <span>anywhere. Quite unfortunate if you asked Harper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weyland? Hope you’re not related to that mole rat scum Entrapta Weyland,” Harper joked, though by the looks of things his bit only served to sour N’s cyberized face. Could he really be related to the ex-Dryl Industries arms dealer?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, </span>
  </em>
  <span>pal. Let’s cut my mom some slack, okay? Sweetest lady you’ll ever meet. You can leave that conspiracy theory shit at the door,” N kept his cool, but Harper could clearly hear malice in his voice, “Now, uh, why don’t you come sit and chat a while. I recall you liked to smoke a bit, and I just got some really top-of-the-line shit guaranteed to knock your fuzzy little socks off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, sorry. I gotta drive later. I have a...thing,” Harper shrugged, “I’m okay to chill for a bit, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>N pursed his lips and nodded in agreement, sitting himself down on the curbside while patting the area beside him. Harper took a seat beside the gaunt, overdressed fellow, this alleged former classmate and heir to an industrial empire that mostly just made electric cars and phones nowadays. The two of them watched the afternoon sun illuminate Apella’s red bricks, casting silhouettes of pedestrians and cars like atomic ash outlines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Harper, my man,” N started, thumbing through the pocket of his suit and pulling out a joint. He lit it with a match like some kind of old timey gangster. “When my dad kicked me out and I moved to this shithole, I thought I was done for. There’s one major perk to living in a dingy little place like this, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper debated whether he wanted to hear the answer. He also felt a bit taken aback at such scathing comments about the place he’d largely called home since birth. Sure, he’d spent a lot of his childhood up in Bright Moon too; his moms remained very good friends with the Queen for well over twenty years, having established a bond throughout both Horde Wars for better or for worse. Station 17 was certainly no Bright Moon in terms of glitz or verticality, but it remained a homely tribute to the cautious, pioneering optimism that followed the Horde Wars. Still, he remained a little curious. Hopefully N’s answer didn’t involve anything too illegal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?” Harper asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Simple. The girls are hot and easy as fuck,” N took a long drag, “Good looking guy like you probably knows what I’m talking about, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper thought of Blossom almost instantly, their last intimate moments mere hours in the past. There’d certainly been other girls in his life that </span>
  <em>
    <span>weren’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>Blossom, and they had been great for sure, but nothing compared to her. Still, he knew the rules: what happened between them was for them and them alone to know about, and to the rest of the world they were to appear as platonic friends. They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>official. He supposed that left a little room to talk about her without explicitly talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>her, </span>
  </em>
  <span>however. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, y-yeah, definitely! My girl, she’s just...fun and cute and quirky and </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Harper rambled, totally flustered just thinking of Blossom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Strong, huh? You like them muscle girls, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I say? Runs in the family. Yeah, she can carry me, give me great hugs, do some </span>
  <em>
    <span>crazy </span>
  </em>
  <span>shit in bed, you name it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True, true. I feel that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like ‘em strong too, N?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be honest, not usually. I like my girls to know their place. Might be growing on me, though,” the Dryl heir puffed a cloud of smoke. Just catching a tiny whiff of it was enough to make Harper feel like he’d been gassed; it was some pretty heavy shit, whatever it was. “Like, just recently, I hooked up with this half-scorpioni chick. I’ll be honest, I thought she was a carpet muncher when we first met, but...well, let’s just say I’ve turned a lot of girls straight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper felt a chill go down his spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, man. I tell you, most of these lesbian feminist bitches are just like that because they can’t get dick. I showed her a good time, though, and when I say good I mean...well…” he laughed smugly, “Guess how many times she came?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper swallowed hard. What the fuck had he just walked into. Was this mystery lady N was treating like a conquest...no, that couldn’t be. Blossom probably would’ve called this slimy suit a bourgeois dog, fired off a list of scandals with the Dryl name on them, and then kicked him in the dick. Painful truths were better than comforting lies, however. Harper pressed onwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh...I dunno, how many?” the catboy stammered. He noticed the giant hoodie he was in still smelled like Blossom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Three times, </span>
  </em>
  <span>bud,” N held up three purple-nailed fingers. The paint was chipping around the edges, upon closer inspection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, th-that’s cool. You must really know what you’re doing. So, umm, who’s the lucky girl?” Harper asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please don’t be Bloss, please don’t be Bloss, please don’t be Bloss…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, it’s funny. Oh man, this is embarrassing. Y’know, it’s like I see so many girls I can’t keep track of their names,” N laughed, scratching his mop of black-and-fuchsia hair, “Think I got it from mom. Back at Dryl, some of the boardroom fossils used to have this running joke that she never remembered their names, y’see? Yeah, s’what they like better about dad, I guess. He’s nicer or whatever. Not like being </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what runs a business, though...hey, still with me, pal?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper noticed just now that he’d been spacing out really bad, eyes transfixed on the horizon as he tried processing what had just happened. He thought he might’ve caught something about how N’s mom was bad with names? He wasn’t sure. Shaking his ginger mop rather comically, he got back to the present moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, N, I’m cool,” Harper blurted out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure? You look like you got caught with your dick in the family goat!” N laughed, choking and sputtering before long due to how smoke-addled he was, “Oh, wait, don’t tell me. You’re nervous about your little commitment, ain’t’cha?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah, that’s it. Gotta get home. My sibling gets out of tutoring in a few,” Harper explained nervously, trying not to show his real hand. What would it matter if he did? It wasn’t like N would even understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get you, buddy. Family first and all that. ‘Least, that’s what I </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>say if my family weren’t a bunch of jerkasses,” N sighed and dropped his spent joint to the ground, crushing it under the heel of one of his loafers, “You get yourself home. Hey, maybe when you’re done picking up your sib, you can show that special lady of yours a good time of your own, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, believe me, I will!” Harper’s words felt hollow, however. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. See you later, pumpkin,” N waved goodbye as he sauntered off, his tone almost taunting. It was like he somehow knew about the worries eating Harper up inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The magicat redhead stood there for a moment, painfully hyper aware that he was wearing Blossom’s clothes. Could N and Harper have had carnal knowledge of the same girl? It wasn’t even the issue of Blossom seeing other people that bugged him--First Ones knew he’d done his fair share of that, so that probably wouldn’t be fair--moreso just who she’d picked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This </span>
  </em>
  <span>clown? Really? He knew there was no way that could be right. She never would’ve tolerated that kind of talk about women--not to mention using a phrase like ‘carpet muncher’--nor would she have been big on the whole ‘corporate stooge’ thing. He just stood there for a moment, the fur on his palms beginning to mat and thicken with sweat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pondering for a moment whether he truly </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>his childhood friend and contemporary paramour, Harper sighed, cursed and headed off. His hoodie smelled like Blossom and it felt confusing, bittersweet. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Start Spreading The News</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After picking Finn up from one of his private tutoring sessions with space mom, Harper heads home to drown his sorrows in a plate of pasta with his family. Unfortunately, because our boy is kind of a dumbass and he gets a little too relaxed, he somehow lets it slip that he and Blossom are a little more than friends. Naturally, hilarity ensues.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 4: Start Spreading The News</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...And so, the destruction of Earth-That-Was society was caused by atomic weapons…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn trailed off, a lump catching in their throat. They took a minute to fiddle with their bandanna, inhaled sharply, and went back to their cue cards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Environmental damage…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t even know why they were bothering. At the back of the room, their space mom looked completely unimpressed. Her head lolled far back over the back of her office chair, her coffee mug held up nonchalantly with zero intention of actually drinking it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...And a deadly pandemic--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, boy. Okay, Mixx Meowmeow, a word?” Adora sat up in her chair frustratedly, body language stiffer than during her Horde stormtrooper days. She pushed the red rims of her glasses up her nose. Yep, she meant business.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom, I--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Missus DeGruy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay!” Finn spat in exasperation, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Missus DeGruy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Look, I dunno what to tell you. I read the damn books--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Language.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hecking</span>
  </em>
  <span> books, I gave you five pages, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>cited </span>
  </em>
  <span>all of it, I even got all the dates right this time! What am I missing? I thought that was a great essay, come on!” Finn tried to catch their breath, face redder than the jacket they’d pilfered from space mom’s closet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try to calm down, Finnley. I can’t help you when you’re like this, alright?” Adora explained, stern yet somewhat compassionate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn sighed, shrugged, and walked over to Adora’s desk. They pulled up a vacant chair from one of the unoccupied student desks, sitting themselves down with the chair facing backwards. Resting their elbows on the back of the chair, they rested their hands on their open palms and looked at the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just don’t get it…” Finn blew some loose strands of their platinum hair out of their face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Finnley, I know, but just bear with me, alright? Stay focused,” Adora tried to sound reassuring, though her steely work demeanor seemed almost impenetrable. She reached into the pockets of her red dress pants and produced a pen, then beckoned for Finn to pass her their cue cards. “So, let me ask you something. Can you tell me what the goal of learning about history is?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, to read about a bunch of old dead guys?” Finn asked frustratedly, “To make more realistic Horde War Two FPS games?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I guess those are all technically right, but not quite the answers I was looking for,” Adora giggled before returning to teacher mode, “No, Finnley. The goal of studying history is not only to learn about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>what, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but to interpret the </span>
  <em>
    <span>why.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In Etherian Basic, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Missus DeGruy</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Finn rolled their eyes. They really did not like it when she called them by their full name. Or when anyone called them by their full name, really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, now now, let’s take it easy. Don’t tell me I’ve lost you already.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad news, mo--” Finn groaned, cursing under their breath. The silent f-bomb elicited a dirty look from Adora, but little else. “Missus DeGruy. You did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, well let me try to frame it in another way. Your essay was good. It was well structured, well researched, not too waffley, and your prose was on point. At times, I’d even call it some of the more articulate writing I’ve had cross my desk. The problem is you’re just </span>
  <em>
    <span>stating </span>
  </em>
  <span>things.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come again?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora adjusted in her desk, flattening a wrinkle in her blouse. She took a swig from her mug--it was a present from Catra, a chocolatey-coloured mug with the Grayskull Coffee Roasters logo on the front--and had a quick glance at Finn’s cue cards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, in your thesis’ roadmap section, you said Earth-That-Was fell to atomics, pollution, and disease, right?” Adora asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn nodded hesitantly in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. So that’s technically correct, but you’re just repeating stuff that I already know. I want to hear you dig deep, try and tell me why all this is important. History is never just about bombs or disease or whatever. Let’s hear about who fired the first shots, who let the plague spread,” Adora took a deep breath, “Does that make sense, Finnley?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn tried hard not to groan, just gathering their cue cards up and trying to recount those words in their mind. They thought that was somewhat doable, explaining why everything was important. They didn’t really feel particularly motivated to backtrack their way through their notes, but it was doable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” they looked at the clock, noticing it was 3, “Seems we’re done for the day, space mom.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep! Which means I’m back to just being your mother again. Look, I know this can all seem...</span>
  <em>
    <span>stuffy </span>
  </em>
  <span>compared to your streaming gig, but I promise you it’ll be just as important in the long run. Just in case you ever decide to do something else besides play video games for kids on the Etherinet. Don’t beat yourself up too much either, okay? You’re ahead of the curve. Not every kid has a history teacher mom to give them extra help with their grades,” Adora smiled at her enby kid as they made their way out, “And Harper should be here by now to pick you up. I’m just gonna finish my planning, go to my Sunday meeting and then I’ll see you all at dinner. Sound good?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sounds rad, space mom,” Finn returned the smile ever-so-briefly before they headed out into the halls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay! You’ve got this, honey!” Adora called after them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To say Finn </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>this was a bit of a loaded statement. Sure, they could make the corrections and write a good essay, but they just didn’t...</span>
  <em>
    <span>care </span>
  </em>
  <span>enough. Still, they figured they’d better just listen to their space mom, suck it up, and get the damn thing handed in. By the time they were out the front door and heading over to the familiar black-with-red-stripes rust bucket that was the family van, they were already trying to think back to names, dates, factoids from across their sources that </span>
  <em>
    <span>might </span>
  </em>
  <span>constitute an explanation of the ‘why’ behind Earth-That-Was’ demise. They didn’t want to make an issue of it at the moment, though, simply bounding across the grass to the pavement and then over to the van. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, dear brother. Let’s roll,” Finn slapped the roof of the van as they opened the passenger-side door, hopping in beside Harper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper hardly acknowledged Finn’s presence in the van, not even with an upward glance. His mind was flung elsewhere, still tangled up with Blossom. While Finn had no way of knowing this, they still knew right away something was off. Their redheaded brother usually wasn’t quite so...</span>
  <em>
    <span>dour </span>
  </em>
  <span>on their little drives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay, Harry?” Finn asked. They were tempted to put a hand on Harper’s shoulder in consolation--partially because that black hoodie looked super soft--but they didn’t want to accidentally set Harper off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll live. Probably nothing anyway. Just overthinking things or whatever,” Harper grumbled, turning the keys in the ignition as turning the car on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, hey, y’know what always helps with that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A friendly game of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Black Ops </span>
  </em>
  <span>with your sib, that’s what! I’ll let you camp, run your stupidly OP loadouts, even--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay, thanks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure? I can tell my followers I can’t stream, call it a family emergency.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, not tonight. I think I just need a little alone time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn remained quiet for a moment. Whatever this was, it must’ve been serious. Harper didn’t usually pass up an opportunity to beat Finn at video games, even in his darkest moments. Then something occurred to them. Deep down, they figured it was probably an exceedingly bad idea to press about it, but their curiosity got the better of them. Maybe that kind of curiosity would’ve made space mom proud in her endless march to get Finn to pay more attention in history class, demonstrating that they had drive to get to the bottom of the ‘why’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, so is this maybe...like, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Blossom</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing?” Finn asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already told you she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not my girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Harper winced, and probably not just because they’d just hit a bump in the road. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t say she was! I have drama with my friends too! I’m just askin’--” Finn started, only for Harper to silence them by taking a hand off the steering wheel and waving to them briefly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper sighed, sucking the air in in a noisy, frustrated rasp. It was odd, his disposition didn’t seem </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry </span>
  </em>
  <span>to Finn so much as it seemed...disappointed? Melancholic? Maybe even </span>
  <em>
    <span>frightened </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be the right word? Their strawberry blonde-haired brother’s eyes didn’t look up from the road, but that was probably for the best anyway. Still, he didn’t really seem like he was in the room, so to speak. Finn’s curiosity did genuinely peak when Harper suddenly got defensive about Blossom not being his girlfriend, too; Finn didn’t even need to tease him about her--and First Ones knew did they ever tease him--to elicit a response of denial. That was certainly new, not to mention fascinating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Harper finally declared, sounding defeated more than anything, “Kind of.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn nodded, their pink-nailed right hand coming to their chin pensively, stroking their scruffy facial fur in some sort of expression of sophistication or deep thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you--” they began, only to be silenced by Harper’s hand again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think it’s best if we leave this here and focus on getting you home, pal. Maybe some of cat mom’s lasagna will do me some good. Until then, though, I kinda just need some quiet,” Harper paused, and for a second Finn swore a slight smile was twitching on their brother’s face, “Maybe then we can shoot each other a couple times.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh,” Finn laughed, “Y’know, I was just kidding about the camping thing--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too late, Finnster. Two words: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Git. Gud.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, shit. Well, if it’s a fight you want, good sir…” Finn started, jokingly daring Harper on. They sounded a little like some stuffy planetary baron challenging a rival to a duel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two siblings had a stunted, awkward laugh, temporarily breaking the soured atmosphere. Finn liked seeing Harper happy, even if the two of them had their differences. It was a pretty cliched bond for siblings, playfully antagonistic yet well meaning. Harper’s smile faded quickly though, and Finn could easily tell there was still a world of unrest in their big brother. Hopefully Harper was right, and he’d feel better once they’d had dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they’d gotten home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geez, mijo,” Catra joked from across the table, finally settling in after setting everyone’s plate at the table, “Have some pasta with your parmesan, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper looked down at his heaping dish of lasagna for a moment, taking a bit to realize he’d sprinkled about half the container of grated parm on the hefty reddish-yellow tower of pasta. Well, maybe it was more like a quarter, really. Either way, the catboy </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>his parm. And really, cat mom was in no position to give him flak. She’d been known to top grilled cheeses with enough emmentaler to feed a Royal Army brigade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can pry the parm from my cold, dead hands, cat mom,” Harper sneered, not looking up from the parm-dusted lasagna. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Threatening a superior officer?” Catra teased, steepling her hands like some anime villain and leaning forward. She was violating space mom’s no-elbows-on-the-table policy flagrantly, the rolled-up sleeves of her hazy grey long-sleeve practically touching the sides of her plate. “Boneheaded move, H-Bomb. Even for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since when does chain of command apply when one soldier is retired and the other isn’t even in the force?” Harper prodded sarcastically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Fraid reserves aren’t the same thing as retirement, pal,” Catra’s body language was as slick and overconfident as ever, as if the twenty-or-so years of being a married restaurateur and columnist with two kids had somehow left her public image as a puckish rogue unscathed. Harper’s cat mom sliced a piece of her own lasagna off with the side of her fork, scrutinizing it like it had been poisoned before happily downing it. “You got me with the civvie thing, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s certainly got you beat!” Adora--space mom--elbowed her wife. Harper could never tell what was more jarring: when space mom had her glasses on, or when she had them off (they were just readers so having them at dinner wasn’t necessary, unless she planned to read the ingredients on the parmesan). “Maybe he should go to officer school if he's such a master strategist!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hell no. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I ain’t letting him waste his life. ‘Sides, my boy couldn’t hurt a fly, he’s not doughboy material. Am I right, H-Bomb?” Catra asked, that familiar bile in her voice coming out at the very mention of her brood ending up inheriting the old Meowmeow military tradition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper just nodded, keeping the aspirations he’d disclosed to Blossom last night private. It wasn’t like he was super married to the idea of joining the Royal Army or anything. He just wasn’t terribly enthused about anything else. Then again, he supposed that was how the Army got people. Aimless young folks weaned on an upbringing of stories about the high-stakes galactic intrigue of the Horde Wars were likely the bread and butter of recruiters everywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright. Wouldn’t he look handsome in uniform, though? Bet the girls would be all over him,” Adora winked at Harper like she was trying to embarrass him. Then again, that wasn’t a hard thing to do. “And the boys, for that matter. Just everyone, really. Like, in general.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yep, embarrassment accomplished. Harper couldn’t quite tell why, but he felt an extra rush of pinkness in his fuzzy cheeks the second Adora uttered that last bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The boys. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s not worth it. C’mon,” Catra mumbled, mouth full of a yummy melange of meat, pasta, sauce and cheese, “Say, where’s Finn? Thought I called them down ages ago.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think they’re in the middle of a stream, love,” Adora explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, for--” Catra growled and pressed against the edge of the table, clearly annoyed that she wouldn’t get to keep savouring her culinary handiwork. She got up and stormed to the bottom of the stairs. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Finnley Orangejuice Meowmeow, get your tail down here this instant!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think they can just walk out of a stream like that, honey. Not mid-game, anyway,” Adora explained in a vain gambit to calm her rampaging wife’s nerves. </span>
</p><p><span>“Can’t they just pause it?” Catra asked. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Multiplayer game. You can’t pause multiplayer games.” </span></p><p>
  <span>“Wha--So just get all the other nerds to pause! Big deal!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All 128 of them?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are </span>
  <em>
    <span>128 of them?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm! Some devs are working on 200 or even 250 player lobbies as well! But, y’know, baby steps.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gamers and your...</span>
  <em>
    <span>overabundance</span>
  </em>
  <span>...goddammit, Adora, look what you’ve done! You made me use a word with </span>
  <em>
    <span>five friggin’ syllables</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Well, you and Finn, anyway,” Catra suddenly remembered why she was at the end of the stairs, noticing her enby child’s continued absence, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Finnley! Eat your goddamn dinner! Your space mom had a C-section for you!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Adora’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, pinching as far back as the corners of her eyes. The sides of her platinum, ponytailed mane were shaved, showcasing both her confused furrows and a vast array of wafer-thin First Ones circuitry. “Besides, it’s not like you haven’t left me with bigger scars, Catra.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Difference is you</span>
  <em>
    <span> liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>those,” Catra teased, giving up for now and slowly making her way back to the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” Adora’s eyes suddenly went all dreamy, “...I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, First Ones, not this again...gross, moms,” Harper winced, his nose wrinkling. He felt very much inclined to hide whatever parts of his face weren’t behind his overgrown bangs with his hands in shame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra and Adora remained utterly undeterred, the ex-military magicat woman leaning herself in close over Adora and bringing her wife in for a prolonged, passionate kiss. To think the two of them were in their forties now and were </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>so damn horny for each other. This would’ve been a good time for Harper to internally lament how much he wanted that for him and Blossom, but he’d done it enough times already that he was almost sick of the redundancy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, come on, son, it’s not all bad,” Catra said as she broke the kiss off, “If Adora and I weren’t gross every now and then, we’d never have gotten you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Catra!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Adora’s face went into a state of feigned shock, playfully pushing her magicat wife away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I’m just sayin’--” Catra jokingly started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think maybe you should say something else,” a snarky voice came from the area over by the stairs, “I heard that whole exchange as I was coming down. Yeesh, you two, get a room.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn made their way down the bottom few steps and took their place at the circular, glassy table beside their big brother. They were still wearing space mom’s old red leather jacket, the one that looked like the one Kaneda wore in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Akira. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That very same coat was visible in </span>
  <em>
    <span>dozens </span>
  </em>
  <span>of old photographs peppered throughout PSAs, textbooks, war museums and documentaries. It wasn’t just a family heirloom, it was a precious historical relic from the First Horde War. Beneath that piece of stunning militaria, Finn wore a white t-shirt with the crossed auto rifles of the Planetary Conquest logo; Planetary Conquest was probably the best known Second Horde War-themed first-person multiplayer shooter on the market, so it was kind of an ironic thing to wear with an authentic military relic. Knowing Finn, Harper guessed the irony was definitely intentional. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re in a room,” Catra quipped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, where I’m trying to eat. Siddown,” Finn joked, already stuffing their mouth with lasagna. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra looked frustrated for a moment before looking back at Adora. Her burly blonde wife just smirked and nodded at Catra’s chair. The dark-haired magicat woman took the hint and sat herself back down, the evening summer light making her auburn fur glow an even deeper red. Well, either that or she was just as embarrassed as Harper was. Getting told off by Finn might’ve done that to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Meowmeow family--Meowmeow-DeGruy technically, but usually they just shortened it to Meowmeow and Adora was chill with that--sat themselves down to enjoy another one of cat mom’s fabulous dinners. Generally, Catra’s pasta dishes were something the whole household looked forward to with baited breath; they were always delicious and lovingly-made, and the four of them would have leftovers for </span>
  <em>
    <span>days</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Consequently, a sort of messy silence descended upon the dinner table as everyone dug into their lasagna. Eventually, however, Adora of all people broke the silence, after some time had passed and everyone had had some time to messily shove pasta into their mouths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Harper, I heard you weren’t feeling super well yesterday. You doing better today, sweetie?” she asked, dabbing her mouth with her serviette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I think so,” Harper replied. He still hadn’t forgotten about the worrying bits of N Weyland’s tale, but he was letting himself stop caring. He wasn’t overthinking it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, good. Wonderful. I take it you got a good sleep over at the Andromedas’, then,” Harper’s space mom remarked, going back to her pile of pasta. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, definitely. Blossom’s bed is the softest place in the universe, I swear,” Harper explained absentmindedly, his brain thoroughly turned off and focused on his own helping of the layer cake-like noodle dish. As the words left his mouth, however, he realized just how absentminded he’d become. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uh-oh. He let it slip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, honey,” Adora started, “What were you doing in Blossom’s bed?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper froze. When he looked up, he saw his whole family staring at him with wide eyes. They all looked utterly dumbstruck. He felt his tail crook and begin to wave as if he was under threat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, umm, I didn’t mean it like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, y’know? Sh-she just offered me her bed, and slept on th-the couch or something...yep, th-that’s what happened! She </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t make sweet love to me or anything, no ma’am! Because, y’know, we’re friends, and--” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh my First Ones, you stupid, stupid boy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harper thought to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just stop talking. Just. Stop. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper’s whole body felt like it was full of concrete. In a more literal sense, he was beginning to wonder if he’d inherited space mom’s ceramic-alloy-fusion bones. Space mom looked shocked, Finn looked...</span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing </span>
  </em>
  <span>in a way Harper didn’t like, but cat mom was the worst of all. She doubled over, dry laughs rising into a cackling crescendo. Her fist pounded the table and she damn near fell out of her chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>it! I </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>it! The only ‘relaxing’ you were doing with Blossom was the kind Frankie Goes To Hollywood were singing about!” Catra slapped the table again, sending tinny vibrations through the bits and pieces of nearby silverware, and then looked at Adora, “You, ma’am, owe me </span>
  <em>
    <span>twenty creds</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harper’s got a </span>
  <em>
    <span>girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>--” Finn singsonged, elbowing their brother simultaneously as they smirked at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up! She’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not my girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>! It’s complicated, okay?” Harper delivered a wicked kick to Finn’s shin under the table, calming them down a bit, “Besides, aren’t you old enough to be dating people yourself?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like sex, Harry. I like eating shredded cheese straight from the bag at 3 AM. And Etherflix,” Finn said with a shrug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B-but you can date someone without having sex? Just like I can have sex with Blossom without her being my girlfriend and--wait, goddammit! I shouldn’t have said that!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, continue, dear brother! I’m loving this! Ah, I knew there had to be a logical explanation for all those box spring squeaks I keep hearing from your room when she’s over--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, everybody calm down! You’re embarrassing him!” Adora exclaimed, forever the voice of reason in the house (a role she historically didn’t occupy, but settled into quite nicely). She cleared her throat and looked at Harper with compassion. “So, Harper, did you...umm, have </span>
  <em>
    <span>intimate relations </span>
  </em>
  <span>with Blossom?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper groaned. His palms pressed into his eye sockets as if he was trying to crush his own skull, rubbing nervous sweat all over his face. Why did they all care? Nevertheless, he relented. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Harper sighed, though he couldn’t help but crack a weak smile. It wasn’t the worst of his secrets to be laid bare. The reality that he’d been sharing a bed with a bewitchingly cute punk rock girl for quite some time now was one he didn’t feel bad about sharing, though to be fair it was against Blossom’s rules. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Alright! </span>
  </em>
  <span>My boy got laid! Up top, mijo!” Catra held up her hand across the table. Harper begrudgingly high-fived his cat mom, not wanting to leave her hanging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you even care?” Harper grumbled, crossing his arms. His tail was still flicking like he was under attack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, uh, I just want to make sure that whatever you’re doing, you’re being safe about it. Practicing consent, using protection--” Adora started, listing her inquiries off on her fingers. Harper guessed it was only natural for her to bring this up; she’d taught sex ed for a bit back when he was still in high school. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re good, don’t worry,” Harper simply replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you? Are you though? For the love of the First Ones, man, please tell me you’re watching your claws when you put a rubber on! Like, I don’t think you understand,” Catra slammed both her palms flat on the table in some mockingly overexaggerated gesture of urgency, as if they were discussing the ultimate fate of Etheria and all her colonies, “That’s how Adora and I ended up with </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You don’t want a tiny you with a little scorpion tail running around, do you? I mean, I want grandbabies, but not like this! Not now! You’re so young, you have so much to live for!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cat mom, please--” Harper started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, you’re not interrupting me, boy! This is life and death stuff we’re talking about here!” Catra rose to her feet rather dramatically, running over to Harper’s side of the table so fast he could hear her messy ponytail slapping her upper back. She brought her arm around Harper’s shoulder and he felt himself lock up even further. “Harper Pomegranate Meowmeow, for the First Ones’ sake, wrap your goddamn package and make sure you don’t poke any holes! </span>
  <em>
    <span>No claws near the condoms, </span>
  </em>
  <span>got me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, cat mom! I’m careful, I promise! Haven’t made any grandbabies so far, have I?” Harper insisted. He felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him, as if he’d been punched in the stomach hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Keep it that way, mister,” Catra pointed at Harper with feigned authority before slowly backing off and retaking her seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora had started quizzing Harper on a billion and one different things about his little dalliance--thankfully not nearly as forthcoming as Perfuma about it--but Harper said and did nothing. The table was fading into the background and he felt about ready to check out. He was going to leave the table, smoke up until the laws of physics didn’t apply anymore, and blast Tame Impala at a frequency that’d leave his eardrums raw. It was a shame, too, since cat mom’s lasagna was slightly above crack in terms of addictiveness. And then, as if by divine providence, his way out arrived in the form of a vibrating phone and a text from Blossom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>&lt;3 Bloss &lt;3: Yo, a pal of mine’s playin a gig over @ Sex Plasma Cannons. Wanna join me? It’s pay what u can, I’m buying. Caveat is first round’s on you. ;) </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, can I be excused please?” Harper interjected. Yet again, his ship had come in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sex Plasma Cannons was an establishment of a kind that could be inferred relatively easily from the moniker. It was rough, dingy, disrepaired. The floors were sticky with spilled drinks and...other fluids </span>
  <em>
    <span>ad perpetuum. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Blossom still loved the place, though, right down to her friend’s band and their little evening shindig. That wasn’t the only thing she was loving, though. Even in spite of the fact that the punk club’s single, exceedingly messy bathroom smelled of stale urine and strong mould, she was still all over Harper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The half-scorpioni punk brought Harper through the door only to slam him against the back of it, bringing her tall physique to bear on him as they joined lips in a bruising kiss. Harper swore the impact was enough to make the buzzing incandescent bulbs hanging overhead flicker and almost die, though that may have just been the crappy quality of the bulbs. Between that and the sickly green tiles covering the floors and walls, the bathroom honestly felt like something out of a horror movie; Blossom did like horror movies, though, so if dingy, creepy fuck-spots were a kink of hers’ Harper wouldn’t be phased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn,” Harper gasped mid-makeout, his hands fully clawed and cupping his lover’s ass. He’d all but forgotten about his chat with N now, the blood that had been running his brain now running another organ instead. Well, that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> way to curb anxiety. “When you said the first round was on me, I didn’t think you meant literally.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your belly button makes a fine shot glass, fuzz aside,” Blossom’s dark eyes looked down at Harper hungrily, her hand sliding up his shirt and digging into his abs, “Mmm, what about you? You thirsty?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...dunno what that means in this context,” Harper laughed nervously, the tittering intermingled with a soft moan as he felt Blossom’s grip tighten. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Meowmeow, read the room,” Blossom nodded towards the stalls, her glasses wiggling around on her nose, “Let’s mess around. Right here, right now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s just ravenous lately, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harper thought, not that it was a bad thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t there too many witnesses? Also, you’ve been drinking. We both have,” Harper explained hesitantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m feeling dangerous. Dmitry’s music tends to do that to me. ‘Sides, I had one shot. Not even tipsy. I can hold my liquor, just like plant mom,” Blossom playfully gave her belly a pat before returning her free hand to clasping Harper’s wrists, holding them over his head, “So, you in?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, if you’re comfortable--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duh, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>than comfortable. Been weeks of work without my favourite sexy little kittycat. We’ve got some catching up to do, don’t we?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, definitely.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Badass. Let’s fuckin’ do this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blossom dug her hand into Harper’s left wrist and yanked him towards the nearest unoccupied stall with reckless abandon. There was something about the way she was now that seemed extra ravenous, like some fire in her heart had ignited during her three-week Arrowhead grind. Not like he was complaining, of course. Before long, they were in the heavily-graffitied confines of the stall, and Harper had his hand shoved into Blossom’s pants. She let herself go slack and Harper got to take the lead for a bit, rubbing against the firm nub of her clit and coating his fingertips in her wetness. The lovers continued this dance for a while, a cacophony of unrestrained moans polluting the decrepit club bathroom, until Blossom grabbed Harper’s wrist yet again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take ‘em off,” she ordered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-your pants?” Harper asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, idiot, my glasses...</span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, my pants!” Blossom demanded, “And while we’re on the subject, you might wanna get on your knees.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harper thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>So we’re doing that. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The ginger magicat boy kneeled, uncaring as to whether he’d stain his pants with whatever grime had accumulated on the stall floor. He popped the button on Blossom’s jeans and tore the zipper down eagerly, then tore them to the ground along with her boyshorts. He took a minute to look up at her, probably looking rather endearing with his big emerald eyes if he did say so himself, and really noticed something different about her. She seemed...slimmer? Not in any way that negated her formidable build, mind you, just maybe slightly more slender. He didn’t have a ton of time to take in the sights, however, as Blossom grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his face in towards her womanhood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you go, that’s it...good boy...</span>
  <em>
    <span>pshpshpsh</span>
  </em>
  <span>…” Blossom growled with satisfaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up…” Harper mumbled out, hardly wanting to keep his mouth away for much longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take your own advice, Meowmeow...Thought you weren’t like other boys? Thought you liked to eat pussy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You make it sound like cannibalism.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>make it sound like you should shut up and get back to eating me out, fuckface.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper couldn’t argue with that. He brought himself in closer and his lips met hers, partaking deeply of her taste as he licked at her folds. His rough tongue would zigzag its way up and then back down again, a technique which left him a fine window for savouring Blossom’s nectar. He just wanted to be here, making her feel good forever. To hell with how disgusting this ramshackle latrine was, he still wanted her all the same; her raw exuberance certainly didn’t help dampen the heat he felt between his thighs for her, either. That was about when something else rolled off his tongue, something that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably </span>
  </em>
  <span>should have kept bottled up. The way Blossom had been tonight, though...it just loosened his inhibitions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Harper sputtered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blossom’s pleased moans and whines suddenly subsided, almost as record scratch-worthy as her moment with her plant mom in the kitchen earlier. The strong half-scorpioni punk girl brought a hand to Harper’s chin, gently yet somewhat...</span>
  <em>
    <span>frustratedly? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harper thought there might’ve been some frustration in there somewhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, what?” Blossom asked, “Need to speak up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I love you, Bloss,” Harper reaffirmed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You fucking moron, you just love to run your mouth huh? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He thought to himself. Seemed he couldn’t hold his fucking tongue today, and not in the way that mattered at the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh...oh, dude,” Blossom let out a string of nervous, slightly appalled laughter before taking a composing breath, “Just get back to work, Meowmeow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper shrugged and simply brought his mouth around Blossom’s lady bits again. He felt melancholic, watching his confession get brushed off and dismissed like that. Nonetheless, he supposed that even without love this was a decent situation. The catboy just elected to let himself get lost in his paramour’s beautiful olive thighs, hoping that one of these days he’d just forget this internal yearning that seemed poised to ruin everything. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Less I Know The Better</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Feeling torn and awkward over his little slip-up with Blossom, Harper confides in his coworkers with mixed results. Later, heading to a quiet, dark and not very fun party with his down-low lover, the redheaded magicat finds an old, skull-faced friend and a most unwelcome surprise.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Extending my thanks to PwiPwiPoo for betaing again and letting me borrow inspiration from them for the character of Jefferson S. Calder/Skeletor. Also, as a brief word of warning, I am back in university so I'm quite busy and anxious right now. My daily word count has been halved and I'm working on a handful of smaller side projects as a way of treating the writing process with a bit more levity and informality, so my output might slow down pretty drastically for a while. I have zero intention to abandon Harper and Blossom's 'origin story' of sorts and if I go a long time without posting, chances are it's just for uni-related reasons (puke). I'm still here, though!</p><p>S_L_H</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 5: The Less I Know The Better </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>“Something on your mind, lad?” Kevin asked, muffled through the lit cigarette dangling from his gaunt lips. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, I guess. Kinda private, though,” Harper muttered. The pile of trash bags he was slouched on shifted under his weight suddenly and he had to stand up to avoid toppling. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, honey, you are such a lousy liar. We all know this is about you and corpse flower,” Dee laughed, midway through setting some day-old bagels down in the community bin. Any day olds from Grayskull Coffee Roasters’ kitchen that the staff didn’t take home got sent to the community bin, that way less well-off folks could get some much-needed meals for the night. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“How many times do I have to tell you she’s not my--” Harper started frustratedly, unsure if he was raising his voice due to the traffic beyond the alley or simply the anger he felt. He was still recovering from yesterday in a very multifaceted sense, with virtually every facet being about Blossom.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I know. You still totally slept with her, though,” Dee snickered, moving on to a load of scones. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What? What makes you say that?” Harper demanded to know, already defensive. He already sort of figured out the answer, though. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Easy. The boss told me. Sounds like you blew your cover over suppertime last night,” Dee said with a shrug, quickly pilfering a scone from the pile. Their husband glared at them with his minty eyes, only to eventually just shrug and take a drag of his smoke. “Well, maybe now if I ever want to know who’s stealing all our prosciutto, I’ll know to just feed you a meal. I’ve never played an interrogator before, but I suppose there’s no time like the present to start.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Goddamn right, my love,” Kevin winked. Even if Dee wasn’t the most high-profile starlet, Kevin was still their biggest fan. “Also, lad, you have a hickey the size of a brigadeiro on your neck.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Harper hadn’t even noticed any hickeys, but it was definitely in the realm of possibility. The show at Sex Plasma Cannons wasn’t just exhausting because of all the loud music and people...</span>
  <em>
    <span>dance-fighting? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Would that have been the right word? Harper didn’t know. Still, even if that was the truth, that didn’t mean Kevin and Dee had to know. Then again, he was going to blow what little cover he had left in a few minutes anyway provided his bibi and uncle finally shut up with their endless ribbing. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“So? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>could’ve left that. Hell, it could be a bruise from, like, paintballing or something…” Harper quickly spat out, folding the collar of his uniform up to conceal Blossom’s substantial love bite. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Paintballing?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Since when does Harper ‘cupcakes, crop tops and killer mascara’ Meowmeow like paintballing?” Dee asked in disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What? A guy can’t get in touch with his femininity without it being a big deal? Hurt, Dee. Wounded even,” Harper said snidely. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hey, I for one think it’s badass. Don’t get me wrong,” Dee smiled at Harper and shot him some finger guns, actually looking on some level disappointed in themselves for making Harper feel shamed, “But face it, hippie kitten. Everyone knows that the army brat’s been playing with your rifle.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Harper blushed at the innuendo. He knew it was an apt metaphor regardless, and it was absolutely true. Sure, he wanted to tell everyone that he was Blossom’s lover, but oh First Ones not like this. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay, okay, you got me...which brings me to my little problem here, I suppose,” Harper cleared his throat, “Umm...I </span>
  <em>
    <span>may </span>
  </em>
  <span>have told Blossom I loved her.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Young romance! We love to see it!” Dee trilled. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I remember when that was us...we were quite the pair of fools. I suppose I just didn’t know how to approach you, what with the notions I had about myself--” Kevin began to reminisce, only for Harper to butt in. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay, okay, you two can wax nostalgic and be in love with each other later! I’m not done yet! S-see, the problem is I told her I loved her…” Harper sighed, deeply regretting that he’d ended up on this topic, “While I was...umm...oh, what’s a polite way of saying this...</span>
  <em>
    <span>performing an act of oral intimacy on her.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“So, basically, you were giving her head,” Dee explained, letting out a slight titter at Harper’s verbose explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, yes, but I wasn’t going to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>come out and say it</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that!” Harper blurted out, his tail raised in shock. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Darling, if you think you’re dealing with highly-sensitive, pearl-clutching </span>
  <em>
    <span>virgin ears</span>
  </em>
  <span> here, perhaps I should rethink the many years I’ve spent as your friend and confidant,” Dee rolled their eyes as they finished putting out the remaining miscellaneous day-olds and shut the community bin, “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’ve probably said worse. Fuck, you’ve probably been in the same room when I have.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>A car honked on Apella’s main drag outside the alleyway, followed by a chain of distant curses. Harper thought he heard someone shout ‘I’m walkin’ here’ but it was too far away to really tell. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay, fair enough. Anyway, back on topic here…” Harper looked a little shamefaced as he continued his story, his little inquiry and attempt to find a bit of comfort, “...Was that, like, a bad thing? Should I not have done that?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hmm, hard to say. I’m guilty of the same thing myself, as Dee will tell you. Heh, just came right out our first time…” Kevin reminisced for a minute. His cigarette was spent and he let it drop to the pavement. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, dude, don’t--” Harper blurted out mid-wince. He did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>need that mental image, that was for certain. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s not the only thing that came out,” Dee sneered in an obvious attempt to further disquiet Harper, “Anyway, I thought it was really cute. Minty here can seem a bit...uh, cold and stuffy on the outside, but deep down he’s like a lost puppy, I swear.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Cute, but this benefits me </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Harper asked, exasperatedly running his hands through his reddish-blonde mop. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, it doesn’t, my husband just rules,” Dee chuckled, eliciting a warm wink from Kevin, “I suppose the only advice I can give you is that it depends on the person, dear hippie kitten. I found it endearing because despite my award-winning roguish exterior, I have a soft side. Hard to believe, I know. I’m a bit of a romantic, what can I say?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Dee, focus here,” Harper abruptly nudged, polite yet a little frustrated. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, think we’d better help the lad out. We’ve seen the way he looks at that girl. Can’t have him screwing this up, now can we?” Kevin concurred. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Easy does it, ye of little faith. He won’t, you and I both know it,” Dee smiled at Harper, trying to be encouraging and actually sort of bizarrely wholesome, “As I was saying, depends on the person. The trouble is, corpse flower is sort of like me, or at least that’s how I read her. Sure, she might have a spark of romantics in there, but she’s so devoted to this whole ‘riot girl’ persona that she’s...well, she’s definitely not blowing on the spark, so to speak. I mean, it’s kind of obvious that she must care about you </span>
  <em>
    <span>somewhat</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I think the extent to which she lets herself express that has to line up with the whole gender-bent Alex DeLarge thing she has going on. Get me?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Y-yeah, I do. Gotta say though, Dee, I’m mildly disturbed that you’re playing psychologist with her like that,” Harper cringed for a second. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Don’t fret it, boyo. They do it to everyone, promise,” Kevin leaned against a nearby dumpster, looking far too cool for a man in his forties, “I once listened to them try to read what sort of person a customer was just based on the type of glasses she wore.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I remember her! Can’t say you can’t tell a lot about a person based on whether they wear glasses on a string or not,” Dee trilled. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“...I wear glasses on a string sometimes,” Kevin muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I know darling, and it’s adorable! And also telling, but that’s beside the point!” Dee laughed. Harper just now noticed that they’d kept a cake donut for themselves from the day olds. Their green fingers were slightly sticky and slick with glaze.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Wait, how is it telling?” Kevin asked, suddenly panicked, “Oh heavens, am I getting old?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, I mean, yes. First of all, though, I am too. Second of all, you’ve aged like fine wine, babe.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hmm, I suppose I have now, haven’t I? And in turn, you have aged like a well-made pecorino.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay, okay, hi! I’m still here!” Harper stood between the two green-shaded baristas, perhaps just as well seeing as they were more than likely about to kiss, “Damn, are you guys always this good at getting everything off track?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I pride myself on being a grade A prime quality shit disturber, dear hippie kitten,” Dee crossed their arms, looking rather confident. Their pilfered cake donut hung from their mouth, the color of old leather work boots. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, least you’re honest,” Harper chuckled, the dry-leaf-crunch-laugh of a smoker, “Look, you two. Whatever interpretations or thoughts you have about Blossom or how she works, we’re going to this party a friend’s throwing tonight, and--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Ooh! A twentysomething-year-old party! The rivers of liquor, the thrum of obnoxious music, the making out in bathrooms and closets…” Dee interjected with something between nostalgia, jealousy and teasing. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No, Dee, not anything that cool...I don’t even think there’ll be anyone drinking. It’s just a couple of Blossom’s friends from high school. I might know a few. I dunno,” Harper shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, I am disappointed, good sir! You’re only twenty once, no sense wasting it on lame parties!” Dee cried with indignity. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Erm, just for the record, lad, I don’t endorse this,” Kevin meekly interrupted. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Don’t play the moral high ground on this, Minty. I’ve been to your weird little dadaist </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eyes Wide Shut </span>
  </em>
  <span>clubs,” Dee prodded a finger into Kevin’s chest, then turned back to their ginger magicat colleague, “I stand by what I said. Lame parties are lame for a reason.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I-it’s not gonna be lame! It’ll be...</span>
  <em>
    <span>cozy? Nostalgic? </span>
  </em>
  <span>One of those, I dunno,” Harper scratched his strawberry mop in confusion, “It’s not important. What is important is that I haven’t scared her off yet, and hopefully things’ll make more sense tonight.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Atta boy! Yeah, you know, it might take time, but eventually things’ll make sense. Worked for you, huh Kev?” Dee asked their husband, muffled as they munched their donut. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Most certainly. You just show her a good time the way you do best, Harper, and the rest shall follow,” Kevin thumbed the packet of smokes tucked away in his shirt, then reflexively took his hand away as if he’d changed his mind, “Honestly, it may very well be something she just needs time to work out. Such was the case for this lovely little sprite and myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, goodness, are you being sexy? Stop being sexy in front of the boy,” Dee’s face went taupe with a flustered blush, leaning in and planting a brief but very warm kiss on their husband’s pale lips. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Holy First Ones, what is with all of the adults in my life being uncontrollably horny?” Harper asked, part joke and part genuine inquiry. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, this is us being PG-13. If we were being uncontrollably horny, you’d know. Trust me,” Dee explained with a wink. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We’re from a different time, boyo. People got shot over displays of affection back in our time,” Kevin suddenly frowned, “At least, I think they did. I’m not certain. Did I get that all correct, my sultry little thespian?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You are tragically correct, my ravishing, sharp-dressed, cake-baking wordsmith.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, in that case…” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, so anyways, I’m gonna go wash the rest of the dishes and finish closing. You two have fun. Peace the heck out,” Harper blurted out, rising from his perch on the trash mound and heading for the door in a power walk. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Good lad. Hope your evening plans work out. We’ll be rooting for you,” Kevin gave a friendly nod to Harper. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Harper, Harper, go get laid! Around the corner fudge is made!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Dee cheered jokingly, “Eh, that wasn’t that good. I’ll shop it around.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, we’re doing the cheerleader thing, then?” Kevin asked. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, First Ones, I don’t even wanna know…” Harper stuck his tongue out in total disgust, “J-just...let’s maybe not have a repeat of the freezer incident, ‘kay guys? Especially not near all this garbage. You might...I dunno, get broken glass somewhere you...uh, don’t want broken glass. You know where I’m talking about. Well, I hope you do, at least.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I can make no promises, dear hippie kitten,” Dee sneered. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Me neither. Think you’d better just get a move on. Help yourself to a day-old slice of cheesecake, too. As compensation, I suppose,” Kevin offered. His hand was on Dee’s inner thigh and Harper was doing his best not to notice. It was like he couldn’t unsee it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Aww, you never let me have cheesecake…” Dee said with mocking disappointment, their finger coming to the exposed part of Kevin’s chest and twirling it in little circles. They were making the sort of eyes at their husband that cat mom made at space mom on those evenings when Harper couldn’t sleep amidst the rampant bed squeaks. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Be letting you have something else in a minute,” Kevin purred, then suddenly turning to face Harper, “Oh, goodness, I’m terribly sorry. You should probably get to those dishes, boyo. Remember, though. Cake!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“...Can I take an Irish cream slice?” Harper asked flatly, looking a little like Private Pyle. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, come on, really? One of those? Really?” Kevin scoffed, “Well, fine, assuming you can find one. Lucky I’m in such a hurry to get you out of here.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Why wait?” Dee asked Kevin seductively, prompting a low laugh from their husband. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, right, okay, well, I’d love to stay and chat, but, uh…” Harper trailed off, “Wait, who am I kidding? No. No I would not. I’m out.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Harper turned to head back into the cafe, door closing behind him. He didn’t bother with looking back. The catboy couldn’t say he felt much better after being issued all that slightly cliched advice--if he knew anything about Blossom, it was that cliches were 100% off the table at all times--but, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He would go to the party and see how it all went. Hell, he even felt as if it would all be alright deep down. Well, maybe it would, anyways. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>“D-does it look okay?” Harper asked, taking a minute to adjust the black bowtie around his neck. He hadn’t worn cat mom’s old suit since grad, and that felt like an eternity ago. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Fuck yeah it does! Why would you even ask?” Blossom answered the question with a question, sounding utterly dumbfounded, “I’ll never get over how hot that suit is. And your eyeliner? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bet I’d cut myself on those wings if I got too close.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Harper wasn’t the best with wings. This was probably his second attempt at drawing them on in what might’ve been six months. Never felt as if there was much of a reason to get fancy with his makeup. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, y-you think so? I mean, I was kinda worried I got them a little smudgy, but--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Nah, you’re lookin’ like a snack, Meowmeow. You’re totally overdressed, though,” Blossom teased, sticking her tongue out past her deep red lips. She was wearing a much less sharp--but still cute--ensemble of General Scorpia’s heavily-modified tanker jacket (again), a shirt with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Silent Hill</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s Pyramid Head character on it, and some pale blue jeans that were torn in places and patched with rough plaid fabric in others. Very punk rock, at least in terms of the DIY sensibilities. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Am I overdressed or are you underdressed?” Harper sneered. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Nah, pretty sure it’s you, dude. We’re going to be in a basement with like, 10 potheads and theatre kids. You’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well...uh...</span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>! I’d rather stand out anyway!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Good energy, Meowmeow. You’re an idiot, but still, good energy,” Blossom turned to face the back doors of the van, “We should probably get a move on. Betcha they’re expecting us.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Blossom opened the van doors and hopped out, combat boots slamming against the asphalt with a huge, boundy stomp. For a minute, Harper found himself imagining pictures of the Horde Wars, the sound of Royal Army paratroopers dropping down from their nimble little transport crafts and marching with the overlapping sound of Horde jackboots; swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, where ignorant armies clash by night. No armies here, though, just a small crowd of young people quietly sitting around and drinking. Harper slid out of the van in turn, stealing a quick kiss from his half-scorpioni paramour before the two of them headed in. The rules remained the same for them, even among friends: no PDA, no talk of what they had. It was sad, but also not what they were there for anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The house was a fairly basic little post-War bungalow, a basic middle-class suburban home synonymous with topside Station 17 living. There was one light on and a couple of amorphous, shadowy shapes that might’ve been people moving around in the single, ginormous front window. As the clandestine couple moved closer, Harper actually began to notice that there had been two windows at one point, but one of them had been broken and boarded off. He contemplated for a moment what sort of situation might have went down here. There had been a rash of random crimes across some of the more distant Stations from Bright Moon recently, supposedly related to drug use; he only knew this because cat mom read a news article about it one time a few months ago and had consequently been keeping her old service revolver in one of the dry ingredient cupboards at Grayskull ever since. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>When they got to the door, Blossom told Harper to go and mingle while she went and took care of some stuff with a friend. Thus, Harper went forth and mingled in the same sense that a thrown brick mingles with a thin glass window. Seriously, he felt so alien amidst the dull electronic thrum of the music and the odd little huddlings within the house’s bland, suburban confines. He got a few awkward ‘hey Harper’ greetings from some people he barely recognized, even getting a compliment on his eyeliner from a tall, slightly-toned guy in a beanie. The catboy felt himself blush at that, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. The sharp-dressed magicat continued to aimlessly wander the weirdly-spacious confines of the house, stopping to pour himself a mediocre piss-water beer from the keg in the kitchen, until he noticed a face he’d recognize anywhere. Well, not a face, really: more of a skull. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yo! Jefferson Airplane!” Harper called, jogging over to the masked man in the purple hoodie, slumped against a nearby corner beside a tacky white-brass lamp, “What’s up, man?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Jefferson S. Calder. The guys at the smoker’s pit of Station 17 High used to call him “Skeletor” on account of his signature skull-faced ski mask, which he always wore with dark-tinted shades (when asked about them, he usually said they were there to cover up his bad acne) and a hoodie covered in burn holes. Harper had smoked up with the guy hundreds of times, though he avoided most of the hardcore shit Jefferson was into. He was pretty cool, if you didn’t mind how rough his voice was from all the toking. Jefferson also had this weird, nasally half-laugh-half-cough noise he made that sounded like ‘myeh’. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Harper! Hello hello! Feels like it’s been ages!” Jefferson outstretched a purple-hoodied sleeve and brought Harper in for a brief hug. “How are you? Still selling coffee with your mom?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Uh, yeah, basically,” Harper shrugged. He was already internally praying this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to take the direction he thought it was going to. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“So, uh, has she mentioned me at all? How’s she doing?” Jefferson asked, letting out a chain of his awkward, raspy cough-laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>And there it is, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harper thought. Oh, how he most certainly did not miss all the braindead, embarrassing times he’d invite Jefferson over, the two of them high as a kite, when cat mom happened to be home. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Still gay, still married and still never going to suck your tiny pencil dick,” Harper laughed, sipping his piss-beer, “Speaking of things that suck...</span>
  <em>
    <span>this party!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Talk about preaching to the choir...only reason I’m here is to try and score some Vellocet. Heard there was a big name dealer here,” Jefferson sighed as if to say his latest designer-drug craving still hadn’t been satisfied, “And, erm, speaking of sucking tiny pencil dicks...you gotten any action lately?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Dude, shut up…” Harper laughed and let his eyes settle at the bottom of his plastic cup. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, forgive my lack of eloquence, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Prince Harper</span>
  </em>
  <span>...I’m serious, though! I’m concerned! It’s been like, what, two years since Viper dumped your ass?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Mhm...I had it coming. I slept around. It was shitty.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Are you serious? You cheated on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Viper? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Viper!? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ugh…” Jefferson groaned, throwing his hooded head back, “If </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>had a hot snake lady girlfriend, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>wouldn’t cheat on her...Wouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to cheat on her, that’s for sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’re just saying that because Viper’s trans, chaser,” Harper snorted. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I--Silence, you fool! No I am not! I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>saying it because I’ll bet she can do some pretty crazy tricks with that tail!” Jefferson exclaimed defensively. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Not as crazy as my cat mom though, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, I dunno, I never--</span>
  <em>
    <span>Myeh!</span>
  </em>
  <span> You shut your yap!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Just admit you’re a chaser and go, dude.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a chaser! I just think that all trans women are queens! Don’t even get me started on the work of art that is the feminine p--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Please don’t finish that sentence. You’re embarrassing yourself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cha-ser.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Gah!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Quit dodging the question!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What was the question again?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you getting laid or not, you furry fool</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh! Well, I mean, uh…” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Harper’s mind went to Blossom almost instantly. Even with her time away working with Arrowhead, the intimate events of the last couple of days really only being the tip of the iceberg (or rather the tip of something else...he was drawing a blank on phallic metaphors, but there had to be one in there somewhere). He thought of that look she got in her eyes, of the way her skin felt against his, of that way she always opened condom wrappers with her teeth...okay, that got kinky fast. He knew of their rules, however, and rules were just that. Still, Harper guessed that Jefferson probably wouldn’t clue in any more than N Weyland did. What the hell. She deserved to be talked up anyway, considering how amazing she was. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I am not hearing a no, good sir,” Jefferson’s mask obscured his face, but he was most certainly wearing a shit-eating grin under that skull. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Ah, y’know...I guess there’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Harper put his free hand to the back of his neck in that awkward way boys do when they’re kind of shamefaced, kind of pleased with themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Figured as much! You’ve done it again, my silver-tongued, red-headed friend!” Jefferson slapped Harper’s shoulder, sending a bit of the catboy’s remaining beer sloshing over the rim of his cup, “So, who’s the lucky lady? Uh, if it’s a lady, that is. I don’t judge, I’m pan, it’s all cool--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Alright, alright, cool your jets, Skeletor. I’m straighter than the pole your mother dances on for a living,” Harper teased. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hey, sex work is real work! Leave her and her career choices out of this!” Jefferson grumbled, pushing his shades back up his nose, “Yet again you dodge the question, fool!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What is with you and the word ‘fool’? Are you, like, a villain in a cartoon or something? Ah, what the hell, I guess I am dodging the question,” Harper cleared his throat, adjusting his collar, “So, you know Blossom Andromeda, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>There was a lengthy silence between the two of them. Jefferson had almost frozen in place, his face seemingly agape in shock beneath his skull mask. Harper squinted in confusion, sipping his beer. In the background, the ambient, melancholy electronic beats suddenly grew into a more suspenseful whine. Finally, after a gratingly long and drawn-out pause, the skull-masked skid uttered a single word. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What?” Jefferson blurted. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Sorry, do you need me to spell this out for you? Thought it was kinda obvious, but oh well. Y’see, as my moms would put it, I stuck my p--” Harper started, making a lewd hand gesture by curling his left index finger and thumb into a circle and then sending his right index finger through it. He found himself getting cut off by his methed-up friend, however. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Alright, alright, spare me the juicy details! Well, for now, anyway! You mean to tell me you fucked Blossom Andromeda? </span>
  <em>
    <span>The </span>
  </em>
  <span>Blossom Andromeda? She’s General Scorpia Andromeda’s daughter, Station 17 High’s star soccer player, bassist in the short-lived glam punk outfit Scissor Stardust? The very same Scissor Stardust from which I may or may not have scored a signed vinyl copy of their album?” Jefferson fired off almost incoherently. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What? She was in a band? When was she in a band? I--and what do you mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>album</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Harper stammered. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, they weren’t around super long...great sound, though. Really makes you feel like dropping a handful of molly and getting stepped on,” Jefferson said with a kind of far-off fondness. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Huh. Wonder why she never told me about that. Anyway, yeah, that’s her.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Okay, disregard my earlier statements, go for the juicy details! My man Harper banged Blossom Andromeda! Holy shit! Just...</span>
  <em>
    <span>what? </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’d be like if I banged...heh, if I banged the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lord Protector </span>
  </em>
  <span>or something!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Dude, no.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, dude, yes! I mean, maybe you don’t see it because she’s your mom, but, like--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please stop talking.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay, okay, back on topic here...how was she? Tell me everything!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Why would I do that? We haven’t talked since high school,” Harper laughed nervously. He did kind of want to share, though. “But, I mean, y’know...it’s alright, I guess. She’s amazing, but it seems you already knew that.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well yeah, but not in the sack!” Jefferson snickered, “Wait, did I hear that right? </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>alright? Meaning present tense! Oh, shit...you didn’t just sleep with her, she’s your fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>There it was, the forbidden word. The word which, every single time it was uttered by a teasing friend or relative without fail, was met with denial and pushback and frustration. Harper played along because of course he did, he respected Blossom enough to honor the arrangement she wanted. Maybe he wasn’t particularly good at holding his liquor, though, because his mouth just opened and his mind just spilled off its deep, dark contents. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, well, I mean, nothing’s official, but sort of…” Harper laughed nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Jefferson nodded and made a noise as if he was about to start talking again. His prepared remarks might have been fairly congratulatory had he gotten that far. The purple-hoodied stoner simply froze, however. It was like he’d been turned to stone by an ancient mythical Gorgon or something. Harper found himself emitting another nervous laugh, but at the same time he felt his tail begin to twitch. His facade remained somewhat comical, but deep down he really was starting to worry. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to call an ambulance again. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What? Don’t tell me you bought weed from that guy in Thaymor again. He laces everything, man,” Harper chuckled, desperately trying not to sound scared. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Your, erm, </span>
  <em>
    <span>girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>…” Jefferson extended a boney finger, his threadbare gloves revealing pale skin and dubious sores, “Isn’t that her?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Harper was about to laugh and simply rebuke ol’ Skeletor by saying something about how Blossom came here with him and she was at the party too; in other words, yeah, of course she was here. However, the ginger magicat’s curiosity got the better of him, and he followed Jefferson’s gaze...and, er, pointing. He wished he hadn’t. Fuck, he wished he could go curl up in some old Horde assimilation machine, some horrible cyclopean facility for absorbing any unclean degenerates the diabolical four-eyed dictator, and get himself a free-of-charge chemical lobotomy. Blossom was there alright, curled up in another guy’s lap and sucking his face like ice cream or something. And, of course, because the world couldn’t just cut Harper a little slack here, that other guy was none other than the sharply-dressed, chrome-eyed N Weyland. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding…” Harper muttered. He’d only had one drink and already he felt like he was going to be sick. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Sheesh. Entropy Weyland? Not a gal of refined tastes, I suppose. Uh, present company excluded, of course,” Jefferson laughed nervously. He sounded pained too. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Wait, hold up...N is short for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Entropy</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Harper’s sorrow temporarily turned to something approaching dark humor. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s right. Entropy Weyland, clone heir to the Weyland fortunes...or he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>, until daddy Hordak found out he was selling weapons to pro-Horde cartels in the outer colonies. Last I heard he was trying to make it selling meth or something. Seems that all throughout time, all that follows him is crime. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Myeh!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Jefferson laughed at his own rhyme. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, shut up, I don’t care. His name is seriously </span>
  <em>
    <span>Entropy? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Freakin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Entropy? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Th-that’s the dumbest fucking name I’ve ever heard!” Harper started to guffaw in what was obviously an overexaggerated gesture. He took a swig of his drink, hoping it would disguise the fact that he was holding back tears. “Well, she’s an adult, I’m sure she has her reasons…” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s it? You’re just gonna let him do that to your girl like that? Come on, man, let’s do some revenge plotting here! Want me to hit him with my skateboard? Or maybe I could vape </span>
  <em>
    <span>really hard </span>
  </em>
  <span>in his general direction! The smoke would cause that big, stupid robotic eye of his to short out!” Jefferson took a minute to let out a string of </span>
  <em>
    <span>myehehes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “Probably, anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“N-no, look, it’s fine. I don’t wanna make a scene, ‘specially since this isn’t my party. Let’s just go out back, smoke a joint, maybe--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I think he just grabbed her ass.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“‘Scuse me, hold my beer, I have a future murder victim to visit,” Harper practically slammed his cup into Jefferson’s hand, the skull-faced stoner gladly taking it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Myeh</span>
  </em>
  <span>! I’ll be ready with the skateboard if you need some backup! This oughta be good…” Jefferson cackled with anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Harper stormed over to the couch, almost tripping over a drunk scorpioni dude passed out on the carpet. He felt prepared to roll up his sleeves and give </span>
  <em>
    <span>Entropy </span>
  </em>
  <span>what for, poised to draw on what little fighting knowledge he could remember from the times he went hunting with cat mom as a kid and have at it. He knew that wasn’t going to come to pass, however. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Seriously?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Harper snapped through gritted teeth, practically standing right over Blossom and N.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The half-scorpioni tomboy broke her kiss off with N, tail flicking upwards, the noise of her lips disconnecting from his disgustingly loud. Harper questioned if maybe it sounded that way because of how drunk he was, or the shape of the room, or maybe just from the heartbreak, but he knew the noise was louder. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>swore </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, uh, hey, Meowmeow. You good? You look...redder than usual. Too many drinks? If you want, Entropy and I can give up this couch and you can--” Blossom started to explain. She definitely looked redder than usual, too. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“This guy bothering you, Persephone?” N asked. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Persephone? </span>
  </em>
  <span>What the fuck? Why is he calling you by your middle name?” Harper demanded. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I, uh...hehe. Long story, I guess. Tell you later,” Blossom shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Wait, is that guy who I think he is?” N squinted, the glowing cerulean light of his cybereye suddenly shrinking to a pinpoint as the lens zoomed in, “Holy shit! Harper Meowmeow, as I live and breathe! May I be the first to say, nice eyeliner! I didn’t even recognize you!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, you two know each other?” Blossom asked. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“First of all, oh boy, does he know me. Second of all, shut up, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Entropy</span>
  </em>
  <span>! You’re like the third person to tell me that!” Harper huffed. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Whoa, hey, man, let’s be smooth, okay? Like smooth little babies. Entropy was what mom and dad called me, and fuck them. N’s the name I picked. You both can just call me that. Hey, wait here…” N paused, then burst into laughs, “Oh, man, she’s your girl, isn’t she? Oh, pumpkin, I got bad news for you…” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Harper’s whole body shook, sweating buckets from every pore. His fists clenched, his tail swung maddeningly. He didn’t want to make this any more drawn out than it needed to be, and he knew he really had nary a leg to stand on here. Still, though, he felt utterly sick to his stomach at the newfound revelation that he and N had been bedding the same girl; that awful conversation they’d had was about Blossom, and he just couldn’t help but be consumed with disdain. The thought of the two of them rolling around, her reaching her melting point </span>
  <em>
    <span>three whole times </span>
  </em>
  <span>at his hand, all of that just so he could treat her like an object, a conquest...how could she? </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Whoa, hey, I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>his girl. He’s just a friend…” Blossom insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, you hear that, buddy? Sounds like you--” N started. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shut the fuck up, you miserable douchebag!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Harper screamed at N, eyes starting to tear as his shaking got worse and worse. He turned his attention to Blossom. “Th-that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span>? That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>all you have to say, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bloss? After all these years? Was I </span>
  <em>
    <span>just a friend</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the VE Day festival? Was I </span>
  <em>
    <span>just a friend</span>
  </em>
  <span> in your bed a couple nights ago? Or in your garden? How about the bathroom at Dmitry’s show?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Blossom froze for a second, looking...well, not quite angry, but definitely uncomfortable. She was making the sort of face someone made when they were perturbed in some way but didn’t care to articulate it. It was a face that predicted a disingenuous ‘I’m fine’, a dull and doubtful cover-up only existing due to a reluctance to explain what was wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah...uh, well, I’m gonna go take a leak. I think this is between you two,” N got to his feet, briefly patting Harper on the shoulder. The magicat seized up, acting like the shoulder was being dripped in acid. “Best of luck to you, kiddo. You’re gonna need it.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Fuck off, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pendejo,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Harper spat. N laughed and sauntered away in response, hands in the pockets of his pinstripe dress pants. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Harper and Blossom stood in a paralyzed silence for a prolonged moment, feeling a colossal divide despite their comparatively short distance from one another. Harper’s eyes stung with tears and runoff mascara, looking his lover over with disbelief. The few partygoers who were still sober enough to take notice were all a little astounded at what just happened, each one of them a flabbergasted voyeur. Even Jefferson was copping an eyeful beneath his tinted shades. When Blossom finally broke the quiet, Harper was barely relieved. If anything, he felt worse. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Meowmeow...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Harper...</span>
  </em>
  <span>look, you’re a great guy and all, but...</span>
  <em>
    <span>heh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, geez...it was just sex, okay?” Blossom stated, firmly but exasperatedly. The message was clear: </span>
  <em>
    <span>back off</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Just--Hah! Right! Okay! S’all it ever is with you, isn’t it?” the tears in Harper’s eyes were rising with his voice, “This is...I need a minute!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Blossom might have been about to say something, but Harper was having none of it. He couldn’t keep his mind coherent, still hung up on images of her and N that filled him with nauseous, boiling disgust. The catboy turned his tail, streaks of dark tears flying off his fur, and marched out for the door. On his way, he bumped into Jefferson again. He stood as still as Harper and Blossom had been, seemingly awestruck.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeesh, Harper. You--” Jefferson started. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Go jack off to my mom again, Skeletor,” Harper spat in disgust and frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Jefferson watched as his friend stormed out, feeling a little hurt by his words. Unfortunately, however, he couldn’t really find a lie in it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes,” he muttered to himself, already queuing up the now-legendary VE Day pictures and checking to see if the bathroom was occupied, “Yes, I think I will.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Harper sat on the front lawn, his mascara probably running so much that his fur looked smothered in soot. The stars were too pretty for a bad night, it just felt like such a paradox. The prettiest nights were always the hardest, it seemed, and tonight felt like the hardest of all. At the very least, the starry sky proved a welcome distraction from the nasty images he’d had in his head before. Anything was better than having to think about N’s stupid, disrobed back going up and down. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The door swung open behind him, his eyes not even moving at the sound. He figured it was just another doofus going to drunkenly piss or vomit in the bushes and thought nothing of it, but he soon found himself surprised. There was a hand on the shoulder of his suit, a hand with cherry-colored nails. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“‘Sup, Meowmeow?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Harper looked up at Blossom and didn’t really know what to say or do. The tears were still coming and his eyes felt singed, not to mention he probably looked like a smudgy mess thanks to his makeup. His lover didn’t look like she minded much, though. She smiled cautiously at him, her hand feeling soft on his shoulder. It made him feel like he might as well come forward and speak his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“...Why him, Bloss?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Blossom laughed and sat on the grass, the toes of her right boot almost touching the sides of Harper’s left leg. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, I guess you two have been acquainted and you know how much of a dickhead he is…” she sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“The things he said about you--” Harper felt almost like retching just thinking about it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’m not in it for his world-class personality, dude, that’s for sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, he’s just good in bed, then?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Nah, he’s really not. Not compared to you, if that’s what you mean,” Blossom laughed again and shook her head, “You wanna know something you’ve got on him? He won’t blow me. Mhm, really. Thinks it’s gross. You, however, have no such issues.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, First Ones, he’s one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>them? Seriously? </span>
  </em>
  <span>So what is it that does it for you with him?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“He...</span>
  <em>
    <span>ugh</span>
  </em>
  <span>…” Blossom heaved a heavy, troubled sigh, itching at her arm for a minute. It was an odd nervous tic, one Harper didn’t recall ever noticing before. “He just has this way of getting into my head.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Right, that’s so much better…” Harper grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hey, don’t be a dick, okay? Look, I dunno why you’re so hung up on this. I’ve been crystal fuckin’ clear about how this thing between us is gonna work. Obviously I care about you, but I shouldn’t have to prove that to you by being ‘your’ girl or whatever. I’m not yours, I’m not N’s, I’m nobody’s goddamn property to be bought or sold or traded. Can’t you just honour that? Can’t you just put aside this constant need to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>like our parents did? ‘Sides, what even makes you so sure they’re so goddamn...ugh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>white-picket-fencey</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Couple years ago plant mom had a thing with a TA, and I’m pretty sure tall mom was </span>
  <em>
    <span>into it</span>
  </em>
  <span>! So there!” Blossom took a minute to catch her breath, her voice a rising fire, “I shouldn’t be blowing up at you like this. I’m--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’re fine. I get it,” Harper muttered blankly. He didn’t really get it, though. Maybe Perfuma and Scorpia could go and do something like that, but he knew his moms--the same women whose confessions of repressed love were the final nail in the coffin of Horde Prime’s fascism--would never do such a thing; they were each other’s one and only and vocally proud of it even after twenty-three years, and all he wanted was to feel the same. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You do? Okay...okay,” Blossom nodded, then wrapped an arm around Harper, fingers teasing the edges of his neck and chin. There were times he would’ve gladly leaned into a gesture like that, but he felt utterly lacking in desire to do so. “I know what’ll cheer you up.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah?” Harper asked, barely enunciating the single syllable. His voice was hushed, quiet, barely covert in its misery. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You, me, the back of your van...I’ll let you cum </span>
  <em>
    <span>wherever you want</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Blossom teased, “Where do you want it, hmm? My face? My tits? Hell, we can try somewhere a little more </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous</span>
  </em>
  <span> if you want. I’m on the pill, after all.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, I’m good, thanks. Least one of us isn’t a slut…” Harper’s frustration bled through like a black marker, throwing himself free of Blossom’s embrace. Then he realized what he said and practically slapped himself, hands over his mouth as he replayed that final, dragged-out pejorative. “Wait, shit, I-I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry, I just--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Harper reached for Blossom’s hand in some frantic conciliatory gesture, but she quickly moved it out of the way. When his eyes met hers next, she looked somewhere between betrayal and rage. That was just as well. Why oh why couldn’t he just learn to think before he spoke? And just how in the hell did he ever think it would be okay to say something like that? He didn’t want to believe he meant it, and he really didn’t think he did. Emotions were just too high, and it felt like tonight even one drink was too many. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Wow. Just...just wow. Mask off, huh Meowmeow?” Blossom laughed, shook her head, and sucked in a long breath. She looked and sounded positively seething. “Well, you enjoy the rest of your night. I’m going back inside. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hopefully </span>
  </em>
  <span>by tomorrow morning I can forgive you, but...yeah, I dunno.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Wait, b-but...but I’m your ride home!” Harper cried in a panic, watching his potentially now </span>
  <em>
    <span>ex</span>
  </em>
  <span>-lover rise up and walk away. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’ll find my own way back,” Blossom spat, barely looking over her shoulder. Her chitinous tail looked poised for a strike. “You know, this could have all been so simple. But you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to keep pushing, didn’t you? Just had to be some perfect little hero, like the one your space mom pretends to be on the telescreens. I’d invite you to maybe take a good hard look at yourself and really question whether it’s all worth it. You might be surprised by what you find. Part of me is still hoping that you are. But it’s like I said...I dunno.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Blossom, wait--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Nothing he said could bring him back from this, however. She was gone. Even if she wasn’t fully physically out of his presence, she was still gone. Blossom went back into the house, not even looking back once; all Harper saw was the back of her silver hair and her purple jacket. He was alone in the dusk, left to truly bask in the all-encompassing hopeless of realizing what he’d done. There was nothing left to do except burst into tears. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>At least, that was how it was for a few painful minutes. Little did the ginger magicat know that an unexpected saviour was on his way. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I take it things didn’t go too well with her?” a raspy voice called out to him from behind, punctuating the sentence with a nasally laugh-cough. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Myeh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Jefferson?” Harper asked in disbelief, spinning around. His old friend was standing right there, still as hooded and purple as ever. “Jefferson, thank the First Ones…” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The catboy got to his feet, his suit feeling cramped and lacking in mobility now more than ever. He ran over and hugged the gangly masked pothead.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Whoa, hey! Don’t wanna knock me over, eh pal? Damn, she must’ve done a number on you…” Jefferson returned the embrace, sounding a little confused. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“N-no. It was me. I fucked it up,” Harper blubbered, still struggling to hold back his tears. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Aww, come on, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. Well, unless...you didn’t happen to call her a misogynistic slur in a fit of misplaced angst, did you?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Harper lifted his head from the soft cloth of Jefferson’s hoodie, his expression of total remorse saying it all. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Shit…” Jefferson cursed, “...Look, you better just give her some space. Uh, how about I come crash at your place for the night, huh? We’ll have a toke, shoot the shit, watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghostbusters </span>
  </em>
  <span>for the hundredth time...y’know, just like the good ol’ days.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay, yeah, sounds good,” Harper smiled weakly, “Just don’t hit on my mom, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I make absolutely no guarantees, ‘specially not if I run into her in the hall while she’s getting out of the shower.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, you are gross, you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>really really fucking gross</span>
  </em>
  <span>…” Harper snickered tragically, then sniffed, “Come on. Seriously, though, no funny business.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You got it, you fool.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The two reunited pals headed for the van, about ready to leave this place behind for good. Just as well, too; Harper wouldn’t have been able to drive Blossom home anyway since he was an idiot and had a drink, so Jefferson had to drive. Miraculously, he was sober for once in his life. Harper let himself doze for a moment in the passenger’s seat, the streetlights pulsing overhead as the melancholic sting of the night’s events temporarily became a distant noise. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>His sleep would prove fitful, his dreams endlessly fixated on Blossom. By the time the two friends got back to Harper’s place, the magicat was about ready to stay up all night if it meant a moment of respite. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey guys, we're setting up a writer's discord! Primarily She-Ra focused but open to other fandoms; share your writings, brain storm with other writers, make collaborations or just gab about your fics and poems, let us know if your interested at Monika #5599 and we'll let you know once it is all set up!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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